


Anterograde

by chimaeracabra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Confused Bucky Barnes, F/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Psychotic Bucky Barnes, Sex, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 09:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11055903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: After coming back from his days as the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes encounters trouble adjusting to a new life with Steve and the Avengers. His mental illness lands him in a psychiatric hospital where he believes he has found the woman he was going to marry had he made it back from WW II all those decades ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, my academic background is in psychology. I have an interesting job where I get to experience a lot of bizarre behaviours. That being said, all of the names of the staff and patients I create here are purely fabricated. NONE of the patients or staff I name are true to real life, and NO identifying information will be given. I even changed the title of the position I work in which inspired the fabrication of the protagonist. The name of the hospital is after my pet frog. Any similarities to real life are merely coincidental.

            Ever since going per diem, I rarely work on the south side anymore. The shifts I pick up frequently happen to fall on the north side. I dunno, I guess MCAs (Mental Care Aides) don't like working with the drug addicts. The south side is the acute side, the aggressors, the severely psychotic, the occasionally dangerous patients. I can't say that I miss the south side, but it's what I got used to when I was part-time. Psychiatric hospitals are a different type of experience; they're not a place just _everyone_ can possibly handle working. I always consider myself lucky to have been hired for the south side, where I got the real deal, the worst of the worst. But the worst I have seen is a patient pee in place, on purpose.

            The worst I have heard from other staff are the assaults. I am lucky enough not to have been punched, but not every MCA is. I think I owe that to the fact that people tend to think I'm a teenager, and most of them won't attack a woman. Nothing fazes me anymore, so when a patient starts throwing apples and punches at another patient because he wants subtitles on the TV, I don't freeze in place with wide eyes, I walk _towards_ the altercation. That was about a week ago. Lewis was the only male staff on the unit at the time, aside from the nurse who had just come in for change of shift. Lewis got between the two patients before I had a chance to physically intervene.

            But I did say, "Guys!" with a voice that would make you think I wasn’t at all nervous. My friend Naomi and I brought the apple-throwing patient's belongings over to South 4 while Lewis and the male nurse physically escorted him over to the acuter unit. Naomi and I discarded the white, unfitted sheets, and wiped down the cheap, polyester mattress with Monk wipes stolen from the Welch Allyn. Other staff would later pick up the shards of apple from the linoleum floor by the snack station, the damaged front cover of the alcohol-free hand sanitizer dispenser that the apple-thrower had managed to break while aiming at another patient.

            "They should automatically send someone to clean these off every time a patient leaves," Naomi said, to which I had agreed. In-patient psychiatric hospitals (at least the one I work at) are not like your MGH, Calvary, or Johns Hopkins; they aren’t a place where you want to have a heart attack, not that there aren't doctors on call or nurses who know how to handle emergencies. In truth, the quality of a patient's care here at Saint Greenley Psychiatric Hospital frequently depends on the integrity of the staff.

            What I am is basically one step below a nurse; I don’t give meds, I don't control if and when a patient will be released, but I do what my manager calls the most important job of all, and that is watching the patients. The admissions are another thing, searching a patient and their belongings. Last year, another MCA, Kaleb, found a knifelike object on an adolescent patient, who said they had it from the moment they were admitted. That's the kind of shit you have to be vigilant for. You can hide things inside of stuff where no normal person would ever expect to find them; pills, needles, destructive devices. Not even shoe laces are allowed on units because people who _really_ want to kill themselves will find a way.

            No patient has ever left such an impression on me as the ones who have given me something to remember them by. I once got a bracelet from a patient who could only speak Spanish. I tried to tell her that I liked her bracelet, my recall of Spanish from 7th grade ever evanescent, and she smiled, took it off, and gave it to me. A 15-year-old gay teen boy on the adolescent unit gave me a re-sealable origami box that he made out of a handful of yellow Post-It Notes. As I walked into South 4, my home unit, the unit that I was hired for and hadn't worked on in months, I had no idea I'd meet a patient who would exceed the others in leaving me with the biggest impression of all…

 

 

            The first thing that I do upon walking into work one Sunday evening is dodge a plastic lawn chair that a patient decided to throw. They weren't aiming for me, but I sure as shit managed to end up in the line of fire, but I'm fast like that so the chair narrowly misses me.

            "Hi, Edie," Lewis says in passing, making his way towards the patient who had thrown the chair, screaming that she wants to leave. I wave and don't stop moving. I walk straight into the back, behind the nursing station, ignoring the patients calling after me asking if they can get a neurontin or whatever other PRN. That's the thing I hate about the rules that are always changing around here; now MCAs are required to wear scrubs, so patients always assume you're a nurse. The reasoning for the new requirement is because, apparently, DMH can't tell the difference between patients and staff if and when they review the camera footage from the units. All the MCAs I've worked with think this was a stupid change to implement, but I like my candy colored Dickies, with the pockets large enough to hold my cell phone.

            In report, two of my favorite nurses are coming off the day shift, meaning I'll have to endure the evening shift without their humor. The one thing I had missed about working on South 4 is the myriad of Nigerian nurses (In fact, there are a lot of Nigerian staff here at Saint Greenley Psychiatric Hospital, and many of them are some of the funniest people I've met). They are always a riot, especially in report. The nurse, Nina, won't stop cackling, her curly-haired wig perfectly positioned atop her head. Her thick Nigerian accent is familiar to my ears.

            "Full census…Dis guy—Henry—he's going to chase you girls, so be careful. Forty-eight-year-old white male. He has long, white hair, beard…He's been promising to marry one of dee female staff by the end of dee night." The only other female MCA and I exchange uncomfortable glances before laughing. Tom, one of the male MCAs on for the shift, taps Nina's shoulder then hurriedly sits back in his chair and looks on like he doesn't know who touched her when she searches around the room. Nina pauses, grinning and swatting at him before continuing, making eye contact with Eve, the nurse on shift for the evening.

            "Henry's blood sugar was a little over 270 this morning. I gave him 8 units Lispro…The new guy, he is kind of quiet. Everyone pay attention to dat key, okay? We're keeping it locked in dee med room. He has a prosthetic arm, but some type of control was installed before they admitted him—oh—his name is James…Boo…who names their kid dat? Chi (roughly translates to oh my god)!" Nina kisses her teeth, shaking her head slowly as if she pities this patient, and I laugh. The nurse named Bernadette who I haven't worked with in months giggles as Nina tries to pronounce the patient's name.

            "You would tink he's _old_ by dee name. I tink that was American president in eighteen hundreds, but he looks around twenty-five, maybe thirty—James Buchanan Barnes. Dee big guy," Nina explains, placing her patient notes on the round table top to lift her shoulders and arms out as if to make herself appear larger, "He has muscle. The key for his prosthetic controls its power, so if he asks for dat key, he _can't_ have it— _don't_ give it to him. Dee power was turned down on his prosthetic so dat it's not safety hazard for other patients." And I begin to try and picture this prosthetic limb. I have seen patients who are missing fingers, even legs, but I've never seen one with a prosthetic arm.

            "His history is complicated. Some of it doesn't really make sense, actually. Dey gave us some strange information from dee medical hospital he was seen in before transfah…but he lost his arm in a war. He has big metal arm. He has not been violent, only been here two days, has not hit anyone, but look out for dat arm. He is still psychiatric patient. I'm afraid he can snap and swing his arm at anyone."

            "What's he look like?" Tom asks, and I wonder if he's just trying to pester Nina so that it takes her longer to give report to this evening's nurses before she can finally go home. She turns around to look Tom in the eye.

            "Dee white guy, tall, shoulder-length brown hair, blue eyes…he doesn't talk much, but will talk to you if you address him. He is _so, so_ musculah—you won't miss him when you see him."

            "I'm afraid he's gonna punch somebody," Bernadette interrupts, rubbing the back of her neck momentarily and rolling her eyes, "Glad I am gettin' out of here—I want to go home."

            "But he hasn't hit anyone, has he?" Tom asks, trying to clarify. Nina shakes her head.

            "But if he asks for dee key for his prosthetic, _don't give it to him_. Just tell him everyone gets keys back when dey dischargin', not _before_ dat. We don't want to give him any reason to be violent…Uhm, he has history of violence and PTSD because he was a soldiah. Every time I tried to give him med, he refused. He is not court-ordered, so no IM injection, but he may become that way, once Dr. Rothe re-evaluates his situation. Oh lord, I feel sorry for anyone who might have to restrain dat big guy. He looks like wrestlah," Nina explains, and Tom's head falls back against the wall with a laugh.

            "I did notice, dough, that if you try to call him James, he will tell you his name is Bucky. Just call him dat—I don't want to start any problem wit him. Anyway, he has problem wit memory sometimes. His friends express concern for him because sometimes he will go outside and just be wanderin' around, havin' flashback, probably war related. His best friend found him wandering dee streets a few day ago…patient was living with his friend or friends at some place—they have a community home, or sometin' like dat. Dee patient's friend says he lost dee patient after he left him at dee house to go to dee store. Patient was probably taking a walk, was robbed, and someone hit his head. When he was found by police, he was talking about his fiancée, saying he had to find her because dee war was over, Nazi Germany won, he was a sergeant for no reason and failed his country, (at this point, the other MCAs are laughing where they sit. Reasons for patients being brought in are frequently entertaining stories), cryin', carrying _on and on_ about his fiancée, saying he had to get back to her. When the police questioned him, he said her name was Barbie, so they knew dat he was talkin' about _doll_ and dey thought he was insane…dee patient's head was bleedin' so dey tink he was assaulted. He was confused, thinking he is living in the 1940s…" Nina continues on with all the sleepiness of a person who has been awake since 5:30 in the morning. But I begin to think a lot about this James patient, and wonder what his prosthetic looks like. By the time report is just about finished, Raj pops in through the door.

            "Who has first checks?" he asks. Tom points at me and I roll my eyes. I didn't sign up for the first round, but getting there just late enough, you got the assignment you were going to get. I sit up, leaving my water bottle on the desk beside the computer, before exiting the team room and taking the black binder from Raj. He tells me to look out for Emily in the first room on the female side, because she keeps throwing things at staff. I just smile and take the pen Raj was using before gravitating towards the nursing station desk to sign my name and initials on every spot designated for MCAs. With twenty-three patients, that means signing on the back of twenty-three sheets of paper, plus initialing for every fifteen minutes over the course of an hour that I will spend passing through each bedroom and bathroom to make sure none of the patients have found a way to hurt themselves, that those napping are breathing, that the diabetics aren't hoarding graham crackers, and that we still have twenty-three patients on the unit. If a sheet isn't signed, that safety check didn’t happen, as I remember my manager saying.

            A woman in a wheelchair with a timorous voice and the eyes of a doe wheels up to me and asks if I can take her vital signs because she thinks she's getting sick. I glance around the unit from where I'm standing to find out if Lewis is done de-escalating the chair-thrower, because I'm technically not supposed to help patients with other shit while I'm doing safety checks. I motion to Janice who is just walking from the back day room.

            "Can you please take her vitals? I'm on checks."

            "Over here, Celine," Janice states, leaning behind the nursing station into the vitals bin for the oximeter. I am left to finish signing my life away, but gradually, I get this sensation that someone is looking at me. You know how you can sometimes _feel_ a stare, especially one that is very intense? I don't have to look up and behind me to realize that someone is standing there, inside my personal space.

            "Barbie?"

I smile to myself, turning around with the binder in my hands. I've heard of patients who are in very psychotic states believing that an MCA is their wife or sister, or someone else that they know. Hell, my poor friend Thuy had to be moved to work on North 3 this one time when there was a patient who, in his psychosis, thought Thuy was his daughter and wouldn't stop following her around the unit. As I look up into this otherworldly expression set deep inside a pair of oceanic eyes, which water until a tear escapes, I can't help but gasp. His metal arm is the second thing that I notice. His face is just so handsome that it catches me off guard, and I have to lean back against the nursing station desk in order to try and create appropriate space between myself and James Buchanan Barnes.

            And before I can tell him that I am not Barbie, his hands grip my waist. The hold is almost too tight, and I jumped, not having expected him to grab me. His bottom lip quivers and his eyebrows furrow so sadly that I almost start crying myself.

            "Hey, hey, _hey_ ," Lewis is in front of me, next thing I know, having squashed his way between myself and the patient named James.

            "You cannot touch females," Lewis says in his ever calming voice, the one he uses when he's trying to de-escalate a patient, "Not around here, James."

 I don't have to move to find that James is already trying to catch a glimpse of me, totally ignoring Lewis's pleas for him to step away from the nursing station.

            "Barbie?" James says again, a little louder, enough so that Janice starts closer towards the three of us, just in case the situation becomes too aggressive.

            "I'm not gonna hurt her—that's my fiancée," James says, looking Lewis dead in the face for a few seconds.

            "She's not your fiancée, James. Can you please step away from the desk?"

            "My name is Bucky," James says calmly. James continues trying to get around Lewis.

            "Alright, well she's busy right now. We just can't have any men touching any women on the unit, okay?"

            "Whaddaya mean?" James states, growing frustrated and pushing at Lewis's shoulder to try and stop him from shrouding me.

            "She's my _fiancée_. I can touch her all I want…I just need to talk to her."

At this point, I'm holding back some serious laughter, and fighting to stop blushing, the blood hot beneath my cheeks. I give Bucky the once over, from the feet up (he's not wearing any socks or shoes), his legs clad in dark blue jeans, his chest looking like it's fighting to get out of a form-flattering black t-shirt. His flesh arm is built in such a way that I remind myself to later commend Lewis for being brave enough to approach the patient like that without cowering away.

            "You can't right now, James—"

            "It's _Bucky_ ," he interrupts.

            "Okay, but she's in the middle of something, Bucky, so can you please give her some space?"

Bucky's eyes won't leave me as I start into the day room, thinking it best that I leave the situation before it gets even worse.

            "Let's go to the sensory room, huh?" Lewis asks Bucky, his voice fading as I enter the room where a session with a group therapist is ending. I can already tell that it's going to be an interesting shift.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girl, I was SO congested yesterday, and I took NyQuil before going to bed past 2:30AM. I am still out of it. I hope there aren't a shit load of errors here. X___X

              By the time I make it out of the day room, the patient named James is nowhere to be seen, but as I start at the female end of the unit to check the bedrooms, I catch a glimpse of him in the sensory room, talking to Lewis. Lewis has strategically placed himself in front of the closed door and is talking to James, probably trying to convince him that I'm not Barbie, and that he should try to keep his distance from female staff. But as I walk past the sensory room again, this time James has his metal prosthetic hand pressed against the plexiglass window and is staring at me so bad I feel naked as I walk past.

            I check the time on my Fitbit to find that it's 3:33, and that Lewis is about to go home from the day shift. Part of me wishes he would stay, because as Nina had stated, she felt sorry for anyone who might have to try and restrain James, and Tom is a pretty skinny guy, so he doesn't offer me much peace of mind if a patient decides to get violent tonight. James is a muscular guy, the type that I would worry about becoming aggressive if he got rubbed the wrong way, had a fight with another patient. He probably doesn’t like being told that he _can't_ touch me when he thinks that I'm his fiancée. Part of me is hoping he will target a female patient with this delusion, so that I can at least do my job with a little bit less apprehension.

            It's different when a patient specifically targets you, which happens to probably just about every MCA at some point in their time at Saint Greenley Psychiatric. I smile when I'm reminded of Thuy's issue with that patient thinking she was his daughter, but then I swallow hard when I'm reminded of Taissa, an MCA who got decked by a patient on one-to-one supervision simply because that patient didn't like white people. Things could happen to you in this job, for no reason other than the fact that some patient is just having a particularly psychotic day. When I make it back to the nursing station from my rounds, Lewis waves me over. He goes into the backroom, where we're out of earshot from other patients.

            "Hey, I was talking to the new patient, James. I told him he can't touch women—any women—while he's a patient here. He seems to understand that, but I just had to warn you that I could _not_ get this dude to believe that you're not his fiancée. It might be a better idea if you call Damon (the nursing supervisor) and ask around to see if another MCA wants to switch units with you for this evening, just so James doesn't pester you. He hasn't exactly displayed assaultive behaviours, but I don’t know if you want to take that chance." I just laugh, though it's really no laughing matter.

            "Move to the north side and be bored this whole shift? No thanks. I actually have kinda missed the action of South 4," Lewis giggles, starting towards a locker for his backpack.

            "Up to you, Eden. Just try to make sure Tom is at least around if James starts trying to bother you. Swear, when the census is _full_ , there's supposed to be more male MCAs on the unit, especially with questionable patients. Just isn't safe."

            "I can handle myself. Remember Catherine?" I ask. Lewis rolls his eyes at the thought of the schizophrenic patient, "Yeah, she tried to strangle me a number of times, and I could handle her easy, all by myself. Thanks for looking out for me, but I'll be fine."

Lewis nods.

            "I believe that, Eden. But, yo, James is a _huge_ guy. Even I couldn't take him down, I'm sure. And he has that metal arm. It just _looks_ menacing."

I laugh again.

            "Anyway, I let the nurses know about that guy thinking you're his woman. Have a safe shift," Lewis explains, and I fist bump him before he breezes out of the backroom to the freedom that is clocking out of work and going home. In just about two hours, it's dinner time. By now, two more male MCAs have shown up to add to myself and my two other coworkers. I know that the nursing supervisor, Damon, probably purposefully put two more male staff on South 4 because of James, but the male MCAs he got are no big deal, just about as skinny as Tom, and I pray that James will not have a freakout that requires restraint. Tom pulls me aside and quietly asks me whether I want to bring the patients down to dinner with him and one of the other male MCAs, because he was told by Lewis earlier that James was going to be an issue for me.

            "I'll be fine," I reassure him. It's rare that I allow a patient to intimidate me to the point where I won't go where they are going.

            "You sure?" Tom asks.

            "Yeah. He's probably harmless; he thinks I'm his girlfriend. It made him cry earlier. I'm sure he's not a threat to me."

Tom giggles and starts calling the patients to line up.

            "Oh, Emily's restricted to the unit, though, 'cause she keeps throwing shit. Make sure you watch out when you pass by her room."

I nod as Andrew, one of the two male MCAs, walks past with the safety checks binder, trying to gauge how many people are going down to the cafeteria and how many are staying upstairs. That's the thing: you have to be watching these people closely at all times.

            I make a point to try and man the back of the line, twenty patients gathered eagerly at the door, talking about the fact there's going to be burgers tonight, all salivating. I swore I counted the twenty people that were going down, but by the time I make it to the door that only opens with keys carried by all the hospital's staff, a metal arm appears far above my head and holds the door open. I gasp quietly, not having expected this. For some reason, I swore that James was mingled somewhere between two other tall male patients at the front of the line. He's stealthy—I'll give him that.

            "After you, doll," he says, his voice practically in my fucking hair. I'm just glad that he's not facing me so that he doesn't see my eyes widen in mild fear as I pass through the door ahead of him.

            "Anyone want to take the elevator?" I call, eying Tom as the doors start to close with the handful of patients who are old enough not to bother with four flights of stairs. James had initially made his way towards the stairwell where the third male MCA was leading the majority of the group to the cafeteria in the basement, but when he sees that I'm about to stuff myself into the elevator, he follows me, hurrying to shove his metal hand between the closing doors so that they open. I've had male patients stalk me around the unit before, some of them registered sex offenders, and knowing that they were sex offenders gave me the vigilance I needed to avoid them and hang out around the male MCAs. Knowing next to nothing about James, I can't help but be a bit apprehensive about the way he always tries to be right behind or beside me.

            The elevator is definitely his excuse to get close to me; Tom is already watching James closely. Tom is hidden against the metal wall behind a gaggle of four older female patients who are talking about their thinning hair, how vibrant  it used to be in their 20s, Henry, who keeps proposing to any female in sight, and two other gray-haired male patients who still haven't showered yet today. Meanwhile, James is pretty much crammed in front of me, and he had made a point to face me. His blue stare won't wander elsewhere the entire ride down. I find myself angry that the four female patients are too portly to allow the type of room I would have wanted, and my head is just about five inches away from James's chest. He doesn't say anything, he just looks at me, his expression saddening all the while the floors tick down.

            He sighs through his nose, the breath blowing me in the face, and I close my eyes for a few seconds, waiting to see whether he'll grab my hips again. But I know that  he's not going to touch me so long as Tom is watching. When we get to the basement floor, James is the first to back out of the elevator, stepping aside to let the older patients walk ahead of him to the growing line that extends out into the hall leading to the cafeteria. Tom jogs ahead, glancing back at me.

            "You good?" he calls.

            "I'm fine." He disappears into the cafeteria. James glares down the hall after Tom before turning to look at me with such a soft expression, angelic, almost.

            "They think I'm gonna hurt you or something, but I'm not like those other psychos. You can come out now, Barbie," he explains. James doesn't go anywhere until I step out of the elevator. I wait a few seconds, pretending to check my steps on my Fitbit, but he doesn't budge until I start walking, putting himself behind me.

            "Is that a watch?" he asks, and I turn around to find him very close behind me.

            "It-it's called a Fitbit," I explain, pointing to the plum silicone around my wrist.

            "You've never seen one before?" I ask as his brow cocks uncertainly and he shakes his head for no, "It counts my steps," I explain, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms casually. I point to the end of the line.

            "Aren't you hungry? You'll be last in line."

James glances at the line uninterestedly.

            "I just wish you'd let me talk to you, Barbara. In _private_ ," he says. I don't know what to say then. I just look back at him blankly. When he starts towards me, I get up off the wall and start towards the staff bathroom.

            "I'll be back," I call behind me, "Get your food, okay?" He looked like he was going to try and reach for me again. I don't even have to pee. I just hide out in the bathroom long enough that by the time I come out, James is inside the kitchen, pointing to the salad so that the lady serving him behind the counter knows what to fill out on his plate. Tom walks up to me.

            "You okay?" he asks.

            "I am. Hahaha, James keeps calling me Barbara or Barbie. I wonder what's going on in his head."

Tom glances through the doors of the kitchen to watch James press the button that allows lemonade to pour into his Styrofoam cup.

            "Poor guy. I heard he has PTSD and some other shit. Maybe that's part of his psychosis. Just don't let him get too close to you. Lewis said he grabbed you earlier."

I wave my hand nonchalantly. Tom cocks a brow at me.

            "If I were you, I would've moved to the north side before that guy squashed me like a bug. That dude is _huge_."

            "You're pretty petite yourself," I say, taking a jab at Tom's waifish figure.

He sighs, fighting a laugh, "You know what, Edie…" And then he turns his back on me and goes to sit on the vacant side of a table where some patients are eating, leaving me to laugh alone. I go to sit at a different table where some females are quietly enjoying burgers. I wonder whether any of them will notice it if I pull my phone out of my scrub top to go on Facebook. I stare at the table's centerpiece long enough to be shocked by it when a shiny metal hand places a Styrofoam cup full of Coca-Cola in front of me. James smiles at me without teeth, placing his tray down where he sits beside me.

            "You disappeared on me," he says. I decide that it will be okay if he sits here, as Tom is positioned next to the other male MCA in such a way that they both can keep an eye on me. Sometimes, I humor delusional patients, often when the shift lacks excitement, and go along with whatever they're saying as if I'm whoever they think I am. James speaks to me with such familiarity that I find it difficult not to.

            "Oh, I just went to the lady's room," I explain, eying the cup of soda he put in front of me, wondering whether he maybe managed to slip something into it, "I said I'd be back, James." He closes his eyes for a moment, a long one, as if what I said had hurt him somehow. When he opens his eyes again, I really look up and feel like an ant sitting beside a statue as he gazes down at me intently, his blue eyes sparkling like some type of water fountain. He's grinning, but he also looks like he might cry at any minute. I glance at his plate full of greens and baked chicken. He looks like all he probably _eats_ is baked chicken and dark green vegetables. I literally feel his warmth emanating off his strong arms towards me.

            In a flashing moment, I recall Nina emphasizing the fact that we should call this patient by his nickname, but I also don't want to let him think I'm getting that personal with him, so I decide I'll keep calling the patient James. During report Nina had said that if anyone tried to call him James, he'd correct them, but he doesn't correct me. He just lets it go. I figure, considering who he thinks I am, that he would let me get away with murder.

            "I got your favorite pop, doll," he says, cutting into his chicken with plastic utensils and glancing up at the TV mounted on the wall. I hold in a laugh, finding the patient's vernacular to be utterly adorable, thankful that at least his delusion is entertaining. I personally find the 40s to be one of the most intriguing decades.

            "You did? That's very kind of you, but I don't drink soda. Too much sugar," I explain, smiling politely. James looks down at me in disbelief.

            "Don't spin me that kinda line, Barbie. What happened to you while I was gone?" he says, smiling and revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth, "You _know_ that's your favourite thing to drink, next to booze," he explains, pushing the Styrofoam cup closer to me with the back of that metal hand. I stare at it; Nina had said he'd been refusing meds, so there's no way he could have cheeked an antipsychotic and dropped it in the cup. I decide that the worst he coulda done is spit in it, but due to the context of his delusion, I don't think that he would. I laugh.

            "I gotta watch my figure, so I can look good on the beach when it starts getting hot. Sugar's not going to help me do that," I explain. James looks at me in a way that makes my palms sweat. It's a dirty look, the kind that used to be on my ex's face when he wanted to tell me he was in the mood without saying a word. He leans down to me so that only I can hear him. I sit exactly where I am instead of leaning away; I'd have hated to offend the patient and see him cry again.

            "Babe, I haven't been lying to you every time I say that you don't need to worry about a thing on that cute little birthday suit of yours," James says. It would not have been appropriate for me to indulge this piece of his delusion, and I blame myself for mentioning my figure. So I just grab the cup of soda and chug it while I stare at the TV. James looks around the cafeteria, chewing. He swallows, turning back to look me in the eyes when he speaks.

            "You know, this place reminds me of Al's—remember we used to go there every Friday night on double dates and hog the jukebox?" he laughs, so I laugh and I just go along with it.

            "Remind me what our favourite song was," I say, squinting into the distance as though if I just squint hard enough, I can look back into the 40s where he thinks he's recalling information from. James puts down his plastic fork and knife to look at me like I've lost my mind, slapping his hands against the table top. The sudden motion is loud enough that the other patients eating at the table pause to glance over at him, probably prepping themselves for some sort of psychotic episode, but he just frowns at me.

            "You don't remember?" he asks with disappointment. And now I wish I had just kept my mouth shut.

            "Doll, _you're_ the one who always wanted it to be our song. And I always gave you the quarters so you could put it on and dance with me, even though I'd rather have shot myself in the foot than listen to that song…"

            "I'm sorry, James. I really don't remember."

He shrugs, as if it's no matter all of the sudden.

            "Guess you had no time to go to Al's and play bad music while working a factory job," James explains, laughing, "Actually, I won't even remind you. I hated that song and I'm not about to remind you so you can sing it all day and drive me nuts. Are you still working there, at the factory? I'm sorry, baby, I don't remember the name of the place—you told me in one of your letters."

            "Uh, no. I'm working here now. I was gonna try to do nursing but—"

            "Yeah—I wouldn't _let_ you 'cause I didn't want your pretty little face anywhere near grenades out in the field. I remember," Bucky interrupts, jabbing his thumb at his chest briefly. Now talking to him really begins to feel like I know what _I'm_ talking about. I fight to hold back laughter. Bucky burps, excusing himself, and I glance at his empty plate, wondering how he managed to finish so quickly without me noticing.

            "You're low, Barb. Let me get you a refill," he explains, reaching for the empty cup of Coca-Cola that he'd put in front of me. He glances over at the two other male MCAs, whose backs are turned as they speak to a group of patients at the table behind them. The next thing I know, there's a soft pair of lips smacking against my cheek. Before I have the chance to pull away or react, James's hand falls heavily around my waist for a moment while he kisses me. He gets up, snatching my cup and heading back into the kitchen. I only pray that the nursing manager _will not_ be viewing any security footage from the cafeteria tonight. I didn't have a chance to even tell James he couldn't do that.

            As he leaves me sitting there bewildered, I realize again how stealthy he had been. The few other patients sitting there eating stare at me long enough that I know they know something happened that shouldn't have. But this particular group of patients are depressed enough that they won't open their mouths to the other MCAs about what they just witnessed. Shortly, that shiny metal hand places a full cup of Coca-Cola in front of me again, this time with a straw inside it. James resumes his spot beside me with a new plate of baked chicken. He winks at me briefly and I look away, neither Tom nor the other MCA any the wiser to what just happened at this table.

            "I didn't know they had straws," James explains, eying the bendable piece of plastic in my cup.

            "Mhmm," I mumble, sucking the liquid down. All the while James eats, he looks cautiously over at the table the other MCAs are sitting at. They have both turned around now, and James looks visibly upset that he can't try to sneak in another kiss.

            "You gotta help me get out of this place," he says to me quietly, "I don't belong here, Barb. I might be a lil screwed in the head over us losing the war, but I don't belong in here." I look up at him now. He has put his fork down again to look at me and speak.

            "I…" his eyes fixate on my left hand, which is resting on the table top, "Where's your engagement ring, Barbara?" he asks, sounding a lot heartbroken and my heart jumps against my ribs.

            "Oh…staff can't wear jewelry while on the job," I explain away coolly. This isn’t actually one of the dumbass rules they've implemented at Saint Greenley Psychiatric, although wearing necklaces that patients might try to grab is advised against; even the lanyards around our necks to which our employee badges are attached are tear-away, just in case. Bucky sighs with what appears to be relief.

            "Baby, I promised I'd make an honest woman out of you when I got home. I haven't broken that promise yet." I find myself not knowing what to say and blushing furiously instead. James glances over at the table with my other coworkers again. He realizes we're positioned in such a way that they won't be able to see it as he drags his metal hand across my lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles.

            "I just gotta get outta here first. I have to figure out how to convince the doc I'm not a lunatic," James explains. And then he picks my right hand up under the table where it had been resting atop my thigh. It feels chilly and strange as his metal digits entwine with my warm fingers.

            "We'll figure it out, doll," he whispers, "I promise. I told you I'd come back home and I did, didn't I?" James asks with a small grin.

            "You did," I state. He continues to hold my hand under the table the entire time that he finishes eating. And when he sees Tom starting towards the exit, near our table, he releases my hand and stretches as though he's yawning.

            "South 4, anyone ready to go upstairs?" Tom calls into the crowded room.


	3. Chapter 3

             When I make it back upstairs from dinner (the other two MCAs took most of the patients back to the unit, leaving myself, James, and Henry, who James would not let his guard down around every time the patient tried to hit on me), I gravitate behind the nursing station, where James can't follow me because of the chest-height door that locks unless you have the key. He waits, watching me from afar as I dig through some drawers to find the markers for the whiteboard that keeps the patient schedule on it. He keeps his distance even after I reemerge from behind the nursing station to clean up the whiteboard.

            After I change the day of the week to Sunday, which no other staff bothered to fix from the previous day, James comes up beside me and stares at the schedule questioningly. He had managed to keep me in his sights all the way back from the cafeteria. Somehow, this doesn't surprise me. I erase the inspirational quote of the day, which already has blank lines running through Lewis's handwriting from patients walking by and dragging their fingers on the whiteboard.

            "Can I write one?" James asks. I decide what he's requesting is harmless. He looks me full in the face as I nod and hand him the black marker. He raises his arm easily to the top of the whiteboard, where the date is written, erases the numbers with his bare hand, and starts to put in the date. I had forgotten about that piece.

            "Oh, I didn't even think to fix that part," I say, "Thank yo…" I trail off when I see what James has written in rather large, yet neat handwriting: Sunday June 2nd, _1946_. Despite conversing with him down in the cafeteria, I had forgotten what year he thinks it is. Suddenly, I feel grief-stricken for him that he's _so_ far gone in his delusion. I don’t have the heart to take the marker back from him and write the correct date, June 4, 2017, _seventy-one_ years past the decade he thinks he's living in. I figure it's a good thing that he never gets close enough to the nursing station to see the computers on the other side where the nurses enter information; the extreme advancement of that technology probably would have scared him.

            "People _are_ crazy here, right?" James asks me, laughing as he fills in a new quote of the day, "My god, _two thousand seventeen_? World's gonna be long over before it gets to be _that_ age," he explains. Again I have to fight the urge to tell James that he has no idea what he's talking about. He hands me the marker, making a point to touch my fingers in passing it to me. I pause to read his quote: I have a firm belief in the ability and power of women to achieve the things they want to achieve.

            "I didn't forget that Eleanor was your favorite First Lady," James says, "Thought you might like that one, baby." And my heart jumps. I think to tell James not to call me that, but he walks away suddenly, and I turn to realize that this is because Tom is making his way towards me.

 

            During my dinner break at 8:30PM, I post a status on Facebook to say that a patient thinks I'm his fiancée in the 40s, and that talking to him is really fun but it gets hard not to laugh. A number of coworkers like my post and I smile to myself as I eat my salad. I go on the website where we pick up shifts and specifically request a handful coming up in the next few days on South 4. I realize that what I am doing is probably not a good idea; I never even told James not to kiss me, and I just allowed him to think that I'm this Barbie person. Deep down, I know that my heart palpitates when he's near me because I have thought about what it might be like to fuck him—not that I'd ever do it—that would be unethical, considering the circumstances.

            In fact, some MCAs have been fired for dating patients, even for just giving patients their phone numbers. You aren't supposed to do that. Not even after they get released and are no longer a patient at Saint Greenley Psychiatric. That's one of the first things they tell you about during orientation for this job, the acts that constitute a blurring of the lines between a patient-staff relationship. I even heard that an MCA got fired for teaching patients karate. Like, _really_? Some of these people are _already_ violent and you want to make them better at it?

            I don't think it helps that James _believes_ he has already seen me naked. I know from our conversation during dinner that he thinks we've been in a relationship for quite some time. I know that I probably should not continue to indulge James's delusion when I get back on the unit, but part of me also worries that he might become violent if I try to force reality on him, and the thought of seeing him restrained in the quiet room makes me feel kind of sad. I go back and forth with myself about whether I'll continue to pretend to be Barbie after my break. I start laughing about it as I sit alone in the staff lounge watching Family Feud for the last five minutes of my break.

            When I return to the unit a little past 9PM, it's dark enough now that patients have begun to start turning on their bedroom lights to read. James is alone in the sensory room, lying on his back with eyes closed on a yoga mat, music from the Oldies channel streaming through the speakers in the ceiling. I smile at the sight of him through the clear window.

            "He kept asking us to put on Billie Holiday and Sinatra and shit," Tom explains, walking past me with the safety checks in hand, laughing. I'm somewhat relieved that James at least appears to be at peace, so I leave the door to the sensory room closed and don't alert him to my return. I make my way into the day room where some bored patients are watching The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King on the TV mounted on the wall. I end up not seeing James for the rest of the time I'm not doing checks.

            Because I came just a few minutes too late for work, I ended up getting last checks. When I first started working at Saint Greenley Psychiatric, I always _hated_ that; it meant that if you worked the day shift (7AM-3:30PM), you had to do the last hour of safety checks. And because the evening shift is until 11:30, that leaves me here _until_ that time, not to leave three minutes before and still get paid in full. I don't see James on the unit until I spot him staring out the window in the sensory room. He didn't see me walk past him. I figure it's better he doesn't get a reminder that I'm still there; he has been calm since dinner time. As I make my rounds, I pop into James's room, where his roommate is sleeping (only having gotten up to eat the meal that was brought up for him from the cafeteria). Many patients are on drugs that just keep them sleeping, so you always know exactly where certain ones will be when you're on checks.

            I make my way into the room further, pulling James's mattress up. Sometimes people hide things there. His bed is neatly made, and the welcome packet given to all patients is sprawled out neatly on the desk. I find a dark blue composition notebook on the desk, and curiosity gets the better of me, so I peel it open to read what James wrote just moments after I went down for my break. He had even written the time at which he wrote the entry. He talks a lot about me—well, Barbie, saying that "I'm" acting strange and I should never have been working at this place, that he can't wait to break me out of whatever trouble I'm in so we can leave and get married. I'm able to laugh out loud because James's roommate is in such a deep sleep that I couldn’t have woken him that easily.

            I hum quietly and pull open the bathroom door to check inside there, turning the light on. Luckily, it doesn't stink, like most of the bathrooms on the male side of each ward. Everything looks pretty undisturbed, actually.

            "I thought you'd never come in here," James states, and I realize with a start that he's already standing in the doorway of the bathroom by the time I finish lifting the waste basket with my foot to check and make sure no pills are hidden underneath.

            "Baby, I need to talk to you," he says, lowering his voice, "Where _they_ can't hear," he explains and his blue orbs travel in the direction of the unseen nursing station briefly.

            "They keep trying to tell me you're not my fiancée."

I hide my uneasiness with a smile and take a step towards him. To my relief, James backs out of the bathroom doorway so that I can get out. In my head, I tell myself that it's time to stop playing this game with this patient and just do my job.

            "I know you're very confused, sir—I understand that it must be frustrating to think that something's going on that isn't…but I'm not your fiancée. I just work here, James. I'm just a Mental Care Aide." James glances towards the window and sighs with frustration, his metal fist clenching, and I contemplate calling out to Tom to see whether he's in the hallway and can lure this patient away from me. At the same time, I'm not so sure I'm scared. James _had_ told Lewis earlier that he wasn't going to hurt me, and if there was one thing I knew like the back of my hand about acute psychiatric patients, it's that if they said they weren't going to hit you, they generally didn't do it.

            "I _know_ you're mad at me, Barb, but I really wish you'd stop saying that," James admits sadly. He looks me so deeply in the eyes then that I contemplate running away, "How else would I remember the way your left eye always waters when you yawn, that you use fancy cursive for capital Ls at the beginning of words, that you always eat the pieces of bread at the ends of the loaf for toast when no one else wants to, how you _never_ know when I'm gonna sneak up on you until I've got you in my arms and you scream like a little dove?" And James starts to smile, the more he fantasizes about me—or Barbie—whoever the heck he thinks I really am.

            With the sensation as though I am a cartoon character whose color suddenly drains out of pure shock, I realize that the things James is saying are all _true_. But there's no way he could have possibly known _all_ of these things; I didn't show him the papers in the safety check binder, nor anything else I've written on during the shift, and I haven't written anything on the whiteboard that starts with the letter L. Maybe he caught me yawning from across the hall, but how could his vision have possibly been so precise that he was able to identify which of my eyes waters when I yawn? He couldn't _possibly_ have known anything about the way I eat a loaf of bread…

            "They said I can't touch you, that if I do it again, they'll send you to work on some other unit. Why? That's not fair…do you still _want_ me to touch you?" I open my mouth, but no sound comes out, and I feel James's hands on my waist again. When I don't automatically pull out of his grasp, he smiles ever so slightly, at the corner of his mouth, in some sort of triumphant way. Deep down, that look on James's face for a solid second starts to get me wet, and I'm thankful that we are out of sight inside his room, his roommate still snoring lightly in a Risperdal coma. James sighs, looking upset suddenly, his breath minty with the presence of a freshly brushed tongue.

            "I know you're mad at me—but I swear it wasn't my fault we lost the war—it was _Steve's_."

            "Who's Steve?" I ask, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh again. And then he pulls my waist towards _his_ waist, to the point where our lower bodies make contact, and flashes a set of white teeth.

            "Don't act like you don't know _Steve_ ," James says, looking at me like _I'm_ the crazy one for a few seconds. His grip on me softens when he goes from clutching my hips with his hands to wrapping his arms around me.

            " _Tell_ me you got all those photos I sent you with my letters—after Steve had the serum?!" James says excitedly with hopeful wide eyes, but he continues before I can answer, "Even as a scrawny dweeb, he was always drooling after you. It's only 'cause he wasn't muscular at the time and he's my best pal that he never tried anything and knew he could never steal you away from me." At this point I can feel James's junk against my stomach (I only reach about the midline of his chest at my height) beneath the towel that remains the _only_ item of clothing on him. I start to back up, fearful that Eve might come by to try and wake his roommate for vital signs. This psychotic man sighs, looking sad again, not letting me go.

            "James, you have to let me go now," I say, but not with nearly enough conviction. His blue eyes water.

            "You _never_ call me by my name, even when you snap your cap. Why are you actin' like you don't know me, doll?"

I just drop the binder of safety checks in my attempts to get the patient to release me.

            "…Do you not love me anymore, 'cause I didn't come back when I said I would?" he asks, trying with little success to hold his tears back, one salt drop silently avalanching down his cheek. I continue to struggle, pressing against his bare chest now— _dear god_ —a motion I had specifically wanted to try and avoid. Deep down, it's _really_ turning me on to be caught up tight in his brawny arms, my hands on a rock hard pair of smooth pecks.

            " _Believe me_ , doll, I had _so_ many funerals to attend soon as I came home—many of them friends I went to high school with. I was traumatized, Barbie. I don’t regret fightin' for my country, but a man sees things in combat that'd screw any sane guy up. I didn't wanna be a mess when I called you up again. I didn't wanna be a wreck the day of our wedding." The more he speaks, the more upset he seems to get. Having been trained to spot a person gradually losing it, I try to figure out what to say to de-escalate this patient, but I can't get a word in edgewise, so I just keep trying to get him to let me go. This seems only to antagonize him more. And I know I have already allowed this to escalate to the point where I should have already screamed to alert my coworkers to come to my rescue.

            "Barbara, _stop_. I ain't gonna hurtcha—"

            "Davis?" Tom's voice interrupts us and James backs up into the bathroom, letting me go so fast that I'm greeted with a chill in the room. He stares hard at the floor. I quickly go for the checks and Bic pen that I dropped, realizing that I'm gonna cry as Tom attempts to wake James's roommate, explaining to the patient named Davis that Eve the nurse needs him to come get his vitals and night meds. I only hope that I don't look flustered as fuck when I turn around, but Tom doesn't even look at me, and Davis stirs as James swiftly pulls the bathroom door closed and the shower starts running.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hilarious, and I'm having a good time writing it. Sometimes I just get bitten by the inspiration bug.

             By the time I'm done doing checks, James is still in the shower, and I hurry into the team room to remember to get my water bottle so that I can leave. He doesn't get a chance to see me when I slip through the door. Feeling a bit relieved as I clock out, I just hope that the patient will get better, because if he grabs me like that again, I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to tell him to let go of me. As I sit in my car and habitually pull my phone out of my scrubs pocket to turn the volume back on, I notice there are email notifications the world over. I check to see that the shifts I requested for South 4 have _all_ been approved, which means that I will be back on South 4 tomorrow evening, Wednesday during the day, and Thursday the following day. My heart lurches, but I smile anyway. This means more money, and I only hope that there will be male MCAs around, because the patient Emily had to go into restraints just fifteen minutes before I left because she slapped Tom hard across the face.

           

            Monday evening, I walk onto the unit at 3:15, fifteen minutes earlier than I'm required to be there. I immediately turn to the right to make sure that Emily isn't about to throw something out of her room, as hers is the first to the right as soon as you walk through the doors. When I realize she isn’t even in there, I pick up on the sound of James's voice. It sounds like he's in the sensory room, just a few feet ahead to the left in the hall where I stand, and he sounds upset.

            "You're _goddamn_ Hydra, Steve, and you _know_ it," Bucky states with emphasis. I hear someone sigh, probably the guy named Steve that he's referring to.

            "Buck, we're just trying to _help_ you, pal…you hit your head pretty hard and you've been having flashbacks again. That's why we put you in here. But you gotta work with us—"

            "Don't touch me, you dirty traitor," Bucky growls, interrupting the man speaking.

A female's voice follows James's.

            "Bucky…you're just confused. Which is _why_ you can't refuse meds. You do that, they're going to start injecting you. You've been court ordered now."

            "Hahahahaha. No one's gonna touch me, toots—and if they _try_ to, they'll be fuckin' sorry," James spits.

            "You want to get out of here, right? You want to come home, don’t you?" The woman continues.

            "Why should I trust _you_ , carrot top? You're KGB and a Russian _spy_. You're no better than _him_ …how _dare_ you call yourself Captain America? Look at what you've done to your country! How could you, Steve?! I thought I knew you…"

            And with a pang of realization, I finally understand why there was something eerily familiar about James's name. I had seen some stories on the news, but I generally never watch the news because the world constantly disappoints me. I finally draw the connections between James and his apparent visitors in the sensory room. I hope that the patient is too preoccupied to notice me as I daringly start past the sensory room, catching a glimpse of James sitting on the floor on a yoga mat, his back against the wall, glaring at a blonde guy who's kneeling beside him (Captain America—OMFG—I am fangirling!), looking distraught as all get-out, and a sexy redhead leaning against the opposite wall with a presence that somehow oozes sexuality and lethality simultaneously.

            James spots me, and I know that I should have exited the unit and gone down to the special hallway that lets you in through the door at the back of the unit.

            "Barbie!" James calls, and he's in front of me before I can get out of view of his visitors.

            "You gotta make this guy and his little girlfriend leave. They're trying to tell me I'm sick—I'm _not_!" And the look on his face is so adorable that I can't help melting a little. James continues to blabber and I look through the clear window of the sensory room to find that Captain America has stood up, his arms crossed, looking concerned.

            "Okay—James—slow down. If you want your guests to leave, you can tell them. I'm sure they'll go. But I think they're your friends—"

            "They're _not_. They're tryna twist my mind so I'll go along with the new Hydra order, but we gotta fight it," he interrupts me. Several times, he reaches for my arms, but stops himself midway, knowing that if he touches me again (at least in front of other staff), that they'll put me over on another unit, something he doesn't want.

            "Okay, just hang on a second," I explain, smiling kindly. James follows me like a cute lost puppy as I make my way to the entrance of the sensory room. Steve spots me and smiles without teeth.

            "Hi, I'm Barb—" and I almost break out laughing. This patient has almost convinced me that I am the woman of his delusions, " _Eden_. I'm a Mental Care Aide here."

            "Steve Rogers," Captain America explains, and next thing I know, he's shaking my hand. I tremble a little bit, in sheer shock that I'm actually meeting this dude!

            "I think James wants you guys to leave," I explain before lowering my voice, "I'm sorry." The redhead grins, cocking her head to the side and looking past me at James. It's only then that I notice a smiling black guy step out of the corner.

            " _Don't_ let them corrupt you, Sam," James says, speaking over my head. I feel his chest at the back of my head. Sam holds in a laugh.

            "He's a good guy—that man was in the trenches with me. _Saved my life_ ," James explains.

            "Don't worry, Bucky. I won't let them corrupt anyone else—I got you, bro," Sam says. The redhead looks like she wants to laugh, and she turns around to playfully slap Sam's chest. Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head.

            "You _know_ what you've done, Rogers," James snarls, literally leaning in the doorway now, against me, trying to get closer to Captain America.

            "Eden, I'm sorry. He's really confused," Steve explains, making eye contact with me. I'm still shaking (hopefully not noticeably) because I can't believe that Captain America shook my hand.

            "He was taken to court this morning by Dr. Rothe, so he's court ordered now—"

            "Don't you talk to my fiancée, you son of a bitch. You don't have any business with her," James adds, stepping past me so that I get pushed out of the doorway.

            "Hey," the redhead says, placing a hand on James's chest.

            "Or you, either, skank!" he adds.

            "Buck— _calm down_ ," Steve states calmly.

            "I'll knock your fuckin' teeth out before you corrupt my girl," Bucky explains through gritted teeth. Steve's expression is actually bored, like he's tired of what's going on.

            "Buck…you're not gonna hit me, and I'm not gonna hit you. I told you, everybody's trying to _help_ you." James lunges towards Steve (who continues to stand his ground) and I grab his arm. His blue eyes are wide when he turns back to look at me.

            "Bucky, please don't hit anyone—we don’t want any violence here," I explain, calling him by his nickname. He looks at me for a handful of seconds, visibly calming down, and I lead him out of the sensory room. He sighs.

            "I'm sorry, baby," he apologizes, pausing to point to Sam behind the redhead.

            "Don't let 'em corrupt you, Sam," he repeats.

            "Told you I wouldn't," Sam responds, nodding. I guide James to the interview room next door, unlocking it, and as I do so, I feel his flesh hand pass down my back, resting at the small of it until the door swings open. James walks in and waits for me to follow.

            "I'm guessing our visit is over," Steve says. I turn around to find him behind me, gazing into the room at James, who starts over, glaring at his best friend who he can't remember correctly.

            "I told you not to talk to my girl," James says.

            "Can—hey—James, please sit down, okay? I need to unlock the door and let your visitors out. Please sit down in there and wait for me so we can talk. Okay?" James's chest heaves, he stares past me at Steve with a hardened expression on his face.

            "Okay," he sighs, walking back into the interview room. But he doesn't sit.

            "I'm sorry, ma'am," Steve says to me.

            "It's alright. I know, he's really confuse—"

James walks back out of the room to pull me inside and close the door, which slams. Steve stares through the window, the redhead standing beside him and crossing her arms.

            "What are y—"

            "Just don't let him see your face or he'll read your lips," James explains, planting himself in front of me so that Steve can't see.

            "James, I was just going to let them leave. You know all the doors are locked—"

            "Just _listen_ to me, doll, okay?" he begs. I nod, leaning sideways to lift a finger at Steve so he knows I'll be out in a minute. He nods and James glares behind him for a second before shifting directly in front of me again.

            "Steve is _Hydra_ , and he has been a dirty double agent this _whole_ time. He's _not_ the Steve we remember—you _can't_ trust him, Barbie. If you do, he'll brainwash you, too. Whatever Erskine did to him, it was _really_ for Nazi Germany—he put some kinda subliminal messages inside Stevie's head," James explains, tapping at his skull. I'm just trying hard not to burst out laughing at this point, "Don't let him look you in the eye— _promise me_ , Barbie," James pleads, gripping my waist. I automatically grasp his wrists. I nod.

            "I promise, I won't. Okay, Bucky? But you have to let me go open the door and the elevator so they can leave. You can refuse visitors, you know? Even phone calls. Just tell the nurses who you want to visit you, and you won't have to see Steve again, alright?"

James glances behind himself momentarily before turning back to me.

            "Can I come with you to the elevator?" he asks. And I _know_ that's an accident waiting to happen. There's no doubt in my mind that he'll try to hurt Steve if he gets off the unit for just one second.

            "You can't, honey. It'll literally take me around fifteen seconds. Sam'll be there," I add, and James calms down.

            "Okay," he says, releasing me so that I can open the door.

            "I'll be right back. Will you wait in here for me?"

James nods. But when I try to close the door to the interview room on my way out, he pulls it open, standing there in the doorway, glaring at Steve. I literally want to cry, knowing that he and Steve are actually best friends, and that it's just James's psychosis causing him to behave this way. Steve opens his mouth to say something to me, then shuts it as I lead him, the redhead, and Sam towards the door.

            "Bye, Buck," Steve calls, waving at James who is staring at him angrily.

            "I'll see you soon, buddy."

            "You ain't no friend of mine," James responds. The Captain visibly cringes, closing his eyes for a moment as I use my employee badge to unlock the door.

            "Keep an eye on her for me, will ya, Sammy?" James asks.

            "I got you, brother."

James smiles at Sam when I glance back at him. When we are safely on the other side of the doors, Sam and Natasha finally break out laughing. Steve glares at them shortly while I hurry to the elevator to push my key in and press the button.

            "Guys, this is the _worst_ he's gotten, and you're laughing?" The pair immediately stop, and the redhead clears her throat.

            "Oh, Steve, he's gonna be fine. We were only laughing at the fact that he thinks we're Hydra," the redhead explains, rubbing Steve's arm, "He's just got to get on his meds again, a little therapy. He'll be good as new," the redhead promises.

            "Thank you," Steve says, smiling at me as the elevator makes its way to this floor.

            "Any time," I say, starting back towards the unit, where I can already see James watching me through the small window in the door.

            "Hang on," Steve adds, "He thinks you're his fiancée, doesn't he?" Steve asks me. I turn around to face him, hoping I don't look too flustered. Steve smiles and there's this faraway look in his eyes.

            "Barbara García…I remember that broad. I was invisible to her every time Buck was around, but she was one of the only broads who'd even so much as discuss the weather with me." And then Steve's eyes fix on me, "You look _nothing_ like her. Strange that he…he _really_ must be seeing some shit…"

James knocks on the door from the inside loudly and I turn to see him motion to me to come back in.

            "Keep an eye on him for me, will you, miss?" Steve asks.

            "It's my job," I explain, laughing nervously.

            "He listens to you," Steve adds. My heart jumps. This is definitely the case.

            "I'm Natasha, by the way," the redhead states, walking up to me and shaking my hand. James knocks even harder on the door when he sees that Natasha is engaging with me. Steve holds the elevator open.

            "I'm Eden."

            "Nice to meet you," Natasha says, all the while looking behind me at James who is pounding on the door, "And I'm _not_ KGB, or a Russian spy. I'm just a friend hoping James will get better."

            "Sam," Sam calls, waving at me.

            "Nice to meet you all. I promise, James is in good hands."

Natasha rubs my shoulder briefly, as if she knows me well already, and then the trio enter the elevator and exit my sight. When I open the door, James pulls me in abruptly.

            "I told you not to talk to them," he says, releasing my wrist almost as soon as he had grabbed it.

            "I'm still the same, aren't I?" I ask him. He stares hard in my eyes for a handful of seconds before his expression eases and he smiles. He nods, leaning down as if he's going to kiss me, but then he stops, creating space between us.

            "They told me they'd put you on another unit if I touch you again. I forgot, there are cameras everywhere," James explains, turning around to stare at the one in the hall. I'm somewhat surprised that he noticed these. They aren't inside the bedrooms or bathrooms, but everywhere else that patients can go on the unit. James sighs.

            "This is stupid. I need to get out of here," he says.

            "The best way to do that is if you just start taking your meds," I say. James looks at me distrustfully.

            "Just—you know, so they think you're getting better. I know you're not psychotic, James. So antipsychotics aren't gonna do anything to you."

            "They're probably working for Hydra, all those nurses—you don't know what those pills really are," he explains.

            "I'll check them for you before you take them. If I do that, will you start taking them?" I ask, bargaining with him. Truthfully, I do want to see him get better.

            "How? You're not a nurse."

            "I know you didn't want me trying to be a nurse, but I finished that training without you knowing—I just never took a job in that profession. Don't you want to get out of here, so we can get married?"

James looks sad again as he nods.

            "Then we can get you out together, okay?"

He sighs, looking at me longingly.

            "Okay, Barbie. I trust you."

            "Good. Now I need to get to report so that I can start working."

            "Okay. I'll wait in my room for you. That's the only place where we can…" he pauses, staring at the camera in the ceiling, "Be together."

My stomach does backflips as I brush his arm in passing, making my way into the team room where I can't wait to let the nurses in on my scheme to get James to start taking his medications.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the filth begins...

             One of my favourite nurses to work with, Nina, is back on for this evening's shift, along with Eve from the night before. As I sit in a plastic chair by the window, grinning, I can't wait until the nurses who are coming off the day shift finish giving their med reports to Eve and Nina. For a while, I just listen to them talk about who to look out for in terms of aggression, making a mental note to continue avoiding Emily, who definitely won't be discharged any time soon. The nurse who finishes her report reminds Eve and Nina that James Barnes has now been court ordered and can't refuse medication anymore. And that's my cue.

            "Oh yeah, James said he will start taking his meds if I check them for him first. He thinks you're all trying to poison or brainwash him or something," I state. Nina throws her head back and cackles. I can't help smiling.

            " _Really_?" Eve asks, turning around in her chair to look at me with an amused smile.

            "Yeah. He trusts me because he thinks I'm his fiancée. So just hand me his cup of pills and let me disappear into the med room with them for a minute or two at med time, that way, you won't have to worry about trying to restrain and inject him."

            "My gal, tank you so much," Nina adds, extending an arm tiredly in my direction. None of the nurses ever like to do restraints; they require shitloads of paperwork, and generally we prefer to try and calm patients down without having to resort to that kind of extreme. I blow a kiss at Nina who continues laughing, mumbling that she prays to God it will be a smooth shift.

When I come out of the team room and start towards James's room, I am surprised to find him in the day room, making himself a cup of coffee. I decide to walk to the back of the unit; there are still cameras around and I wouldn't have wanted it to look like I'm over-engaging with this patient.

            Patients are watching some movie and I sit in one of the plastic chairs near the linen closet. It's only a few minutes before James starts back to his room, spotting me and instead bringing his cup of coffee to sit down beside me. He smiles.

            "Hi, Barb. What's on in this shithole?" he asks.

            "Uhm, I don't know. I wasn't actually watching," I admit, shrugging.

            "Want a cup of coffee? I can go back and get you one."

            "I'm fine," I reassure him, "So, how was your day?" I ask. James turns in his seat to face me bodily.

            "Full of crap. That doctor took me to court and said I'm too delusional to function outside of the hospital until I start taking the right meds. Can you believe the bull?"

            "I know you're not crazy," I whisper, leaning in closer to him for a second. He grins.

            "You always had my back, Barb. I'm just worried what this place is doing to _you_ ," he explains, looking worried. I smile.

            "I don't trust these nurses, and definitely not the doctors. Don't listen too close to them, will you?"

            "I won't. I'll be fine, James."

            "I was scared I wouldn't see you again when you left last night. I don't remember what we were talking about…I just remember you coming into my room for something."

            "Uhm, we were just talking about the best way to get you out of here." Deep down, I'm relieved he doesn't remember how upset he got, talking about the war messing him up. The poor man. He sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall.

            "You okay, Bucky?"

He doesn't bother opening his eyes as he speaks, "I just wanna hold you and kiss you _so_ bad—you have no clue, Barb. But all these gotdamn cameras are everywhere…" I find myself blushing, staring at him. He swallows and his Adam's apple bounces, "I can't risk them taking you away." I fight the urge to dip my finger in his cleft. His face is just so handsome that it's hard not to stare at. I find it odd that he manages to remember certain things, but others he seems to forget so easily. He opens his eyes now, and keeping his head pressed against the wall, glances out of the corners of them down at me with a little smile.

            "How does that make you feel, Barbie?" he asks quietly. I cross my legs where I sit, trying to focus on something other than the slight throbbing sensation gradually intensifying between my thighs.

            "My roommate's always asleep, they've got him so doped up. Whaddaya say, when you come around with that stupid binder…" Bucky turns his face away from the camera, talking only loud enough for me to hear, "I throw you on that crappy mattress and—"

            "Mr. Barnes," Nina calls, ambling into the back day hall. James grimaces.

            "Can I please have your vital signs, sir?" she asks. I hope that I'm not looking uncomfortable, as the nurse's eyes dart back and forth from James to myself.

            "Ma'am, what could you possibly need my vitals for?" James asks, "I'm a perfectly healthy young man. I ain't droppin' dead just yet."

            "Oh, come on, please," Nina urges, using the friendliest voice, "It's just routine, twice a day. You've been refusing vitals since you got here, but we really need them if you goin' to be okay," Nina continues. James narrows his eyes at her.

            "Where're you from?" he asks. Nina laughs, and I hide my smile in the neck of my shirt.

            "Nigeria, son."

James shrugs, "Never been there. But I'm gonna have to say no, ma'am. All you gotta do is look at me. I'm breathin' ain't I?" James appears to have more of an attitude any time staff try to deal with him. He doesn't speak to me like that.

            "Let me do them for you, Bucky," I intervene, placing a hand atop his flesh one, which had begun to grip the chair. His head whips in my direction.

            "Okay, sweety."

And he gets up to follow me, Nina gawking like she cannot believe what's happening. James follows me to the nursing station where there's a chair nearby for vital signs. He places his cup of coffee on the nursing station desk and sits where I point. Nina comes back, unlocking the nursing station door and observing James from the other side. He smiles at me as I retrieve the sphygmomanometer and a stethoscope from the vitals bin behind the desk (for some reason, the automatic machine, which we upgraded to at the time when we had a patient who managed to steal its batteries and swallow them, is missing). James looks up at me with stars in his eyes while I secure the cuff around his arm and slip the diaphragm of the steth against his radial artery.

            "Dis man," Nina says with amusement from behind the desk, causing Eve to laugh.

            "What about me?" James calls, looking over where her voice had come from.

            "Shhhh," I say, placing a hand against his chest to keep him seated.

            "You're gonna be good for me, aren't you?" I ask, pumping the cuff. Bucky gives me this dirty look.

            "For you, I'll be anything you want, doll." I'm glad that my face is not directed towards the nurses, otherwise they would have seen how much I like what James had to say in response. His blood pressure comes out to be textbook perfect at 120/80 mmHg. I reach into the vitals bin behind the nursing desk for a piece of paper and pen to scrawl this number down before fitting a disposable probe on the thermometer to get his temperature. He stares at the device as I bring it to his mouth.

            "Fancy thermometer—"

            "Shhh," I grin again, "Under your tongue, please." He keeps smiling at me with his lips pursed around the stick. A few seconds pass while I wait for the device to beep, and James wraps a large hand around mine, causing my pulse to quicken. Gently, I shake his hand off; Nina is still watching us. I press the back of my newly freed hand against his forehead and he closes his eyes and moans. By now, I'm about to explode, and I can tell that I'm wet inside my underwear. _Fuck_.

            "Ninety-eight point six," I report, writing James's temperature down on the paper I left on the desk. Nina laughs again.

            "Want to do my job, Eden? You can take all my patient and I go home and sleep early tonight-o." I start laughing.

            "Dis my gal can get dis guy to do anyting! Praise dee lord."

I have to unlock the nursing station door in order to search for the pulse oximeter, which appears to be missing.

            "I gotta take your pulse manually," I state, approaching James who looks excited to let me do this. I search for his pulse in his wrist, and he watches me with that dirty look on his face. I find a beat, but wanting an excuse to touch him more, I press my index and middle fingers into the carotid at his neck, where the skin is only somewhat scruffy. I look for the clock on the wall and count the pulse for thirty seconds with the intent to multiply by 2, James staring up at me like…I can't even explain.

            "How'm I doing, Barb? Still alive?" he asks. I shush him again and he laughs.

            "Whoa, like, 120. Are you okay, James?" I ask, eying him with concern. This is tachycardic, which doesn't make sense to me, considering that all his other vitals are perfect.

            "I'm just excited 'cause you're touching me, honey," he says shamelessly. Nina claps, throwing her head back and I pull my hand away with wide eyes. James bites his bottom lip, eying me up and down like I'm something to eat. I turn away to write down the information before handing it to Nina to add to his chart in the computer.

            "Tank you so much," Nina adds, "See dat, Mr. Barnes? Eh? Was dat so bad?" she calls, giggling.

            "No, but that's only 'cause I had my girl do it," James responds, and I can't really tell whether he's joking when I turn to look at him because he's smiling, the biggest smile I've seen him display yet. And he looks cute.

            "Now, can we go back to watching movies, nurse Nina?" James asks, rolling his eyes. She looks up from the computer upon hearing her name.

            "Eh-heh. Oh—yes, you're set for now," she says, waving. James gestures to me to pass him, picking his coffee up off the counter of the nursing station. He follows me into the back day room. I blush, recalling the conversation we'd been having before Nina interrupted; James had been trying to tell me what he wants to do to me, something that absolutely cannot happen in a place like this. I feel a fire ignite between my thighs as James pats the seat beside him, grinning without teeth. He watches my every motion now, sipping his coffee. He then sighs in a way that again signifies so much longing. As the only patient who is still watching whatever movie is on turns to leave the day room, James places a hand on my knee briefly.

            "This just isn't fair," he says quietly, "It's like you've been put here to torture me," he explains, closing his eyes again and dropping his head back against the wall. I have never wanted to fuck a patient before now. I sit there with him and listen to him tell me about things he assumes I remember, the places he used to take me on dates, our favourite places to make out, the day he remembers that he, Steve, some other "broad", and I all spent together before he shipped out to England. I listen to him talk so long that by the time another MCA comes over to ask James if he wants to go down to the cafeteria for lunch, he says he'd rather stay and talk to me. To my surprise, the only patients left on the unit are Emily (restrained on the bed in the quiet room for kicking another female patient), and James's roommate who has probably been asleep all day. Because there are only three patients left on the unit, the MCA hands me their check sheets so that I can do the round in the next couple of minutes, which will make me the only MCA on the unit along with the two nurses.

            James stands, stretching in front of me while laughing, telling me about this time that he took Steve to a carnival on Coney Island and made him get on a ride that caused Steve to throw up. I realize then, when his expression gets more serious, that he had intentionally faced away from the camera in the ceiling to talk to me.

            "I'm gonna go in my room. I want you to meet me in there, because if I have to go another five minutes without kissing you, I'm gonna _really_ go crazy, and then I'll never get outta here. You can just walk into my neighbor's room—act like you're doing a contraband search while everyone's down at dinner, and sneak in through the bathroom," he explains. (The bathrooms are adjoined to the rooms such that every two rooms shares one bathroom, patients _frequently_ complaining that their neighbors forgot to unlock the door on the other side). I glance to the right and to the left, feeling all the blood rush to my cheeks.

            "I dunno, James—"

            " _Please_ , Barbie," he begs, looking like a giant puppy, "Just for a minute—maybe two. You're the _only_ thing keeping me sane in here," he says, shoving his metal hand into the pocket of his jeans, frowning. I allow a few agonizing seconds to pass, during which time, James looks like he's going to scream or cry—I can't really tell which. Now, me enabling his delusion is bad enough, and I know that this is the very last thing I should be agreeing to. But as one of my favourite teachers from high school once said in a class about American government, "If you don't get caught, you don’t get caught." I smile ever so slightly.

            "Okay. Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

James looks utterly relieved.

            "I'm gonna start on the female side and make my way down. If anyone is looking at the cameras right now, it has to look like I'm doing my job," I explain. James nods and winks at me. He points to the linen closet beside me.

            "Can I get some towels, sweetheart?" he says, "I might as well make it look like I went into my room for a reason," he explains, and I'm thankful that these security cameras don't include audio. I stand up and use my key to open the small closet, handing James two towels. He smiles at me knowingly and starts into his room, closing the door all the way. I sit back down and wait for about a minute before checking the time on my Fitbit and starting out of the back day room.

            I check Emily's bedroom, and then skip to the last female room on that side of the hall. I walk in and out of two other male bedrooms, taking my time for a handful of seconds in each one, out of view of the cameras, before I start to the very last room that is neighboring James's. When I get in there, he's already facing me, staring from inside the bathroom with anticipation. In truth, it had shocked me to see him so quickly, and I wonder if he had positioned himself this way straight after closing his bedroom door.

            "Get over here, lady," he says, waving with impatience, at which I laugh.

            "No, _you_ come here," I whisper fiercely, laughing, thinking that he won't do it, that he'll somehow snap out of his psychosis and stop, but to my surprise, he starts towards me swiftly. He pulls the three sheets of paper out of my hands, placing them on a shelf of the bureau that's built into the wall, simultaneously pressing me up against it. His lips are on mine before I can make any type of move. _What am I doing? What if someone walks in? I'm gonna get fired! This is 1,000 percent unethical…this feels good._ James moans against my lips, hoisting me up by the ass in his hands. I'm in disbelief. The experience is indescribable, out-of-body or some shit. Something about it feels so eerily _right_ that I nearly scream.

            James moans unabashedly, as if he had been holding this all in for far too long. My legs have nowhere else to go but to wrap around his waist. He manipulates my mouth open and his tongue is in there trying to taste me with so much force that I start to pull back. James laughs.

            "What're you pulling away for, doll?" he asks, "No one's gonna see," he promises, glancing out of the half open door of the room. There are no cameras able to see inside considering how we're positioned. He starts kissing me again, messily, exhaling a hurricane of lust down my throat. I push my hand through his hair, grasping at the back of his neck.

            "You're kissin' me like you did when you were a virgin," he explains, grinning, "Come on, doll—open your mouth for me." And I do. I trace the outline of his sculpted body, growing more aroused by the minute. He holds me up in that position for literally minutes, kissing away.

He moans again, letting me down suddenly and grabbing my hand. He pulls me so fast into the bathroom that I almost trip. He pulls both the door on his neighbor's side and the door on his side closed. As I watch him lock them, I contemplate how much further I'll let this go; he said he just wanted to kiss me, but the way he was kissing me begs for _much_ more than that.

            He looks at me, this lust shading his eyes so darkly that now I'm sure they're brown instead of blue, or maybe the pupils have just dilated completely. He closes the gap between us and grabs my hips, hoisting me up atop the sink abruptly, and I gasp before giggling. I don't notice the automatic sink turn on, spraying drops of water against my scrub top. I just watch him with fascination as he tilts his head to the side and attacks my mouth again, holding me tightly against him. He squeezes my ass, causing me to gasp and nip his lip.

            "Come on, doll," he says, smiling devilishly, "You don't have to act shy. No one's gonna see." I am _way_ beyond aroused at this point, and Bucky's kissing and grabbing only makes it worse. He gives a sharp thrust between my thighs suddenly, which would have caused me to fall directly into the sink, had he not been holding me so damn tightly. We both moan and I cover my mouth, not wanting to be loud, lest we _actually_ wake his roommate. Despite the tough denim of his jeans, I can feel that he's hard. I keep kissing him back with just as much fervor as he had started kissing me, and then I _am_ in the sink, my head against the mirror as he litters my neck in ravenous kisses, sucking so hard it hurts in a pleasant way. I hear him unzipping his fly and look at him hesitantly.

            "I need you right fucking now," he says, fumbling with his zipper before pulling hard on my scrub pants. I gasp and they end up halfway down my thighs before I press my hands fervently against his chest to stop him.

            "No—I can't do this," I whisper ferociously, gazing at the very top of James's exposed hips. He looks at me darkly, erotically, silencing me with more kisses until he can't ignore the pressure of my hands against his chest, hesitating. He sighs.

            "God, _please_ , Barb. I'm gonna go crazy. I need to be inside of you right now."

My whole body could have orgasmed listening to him talk dirty like this, _the desperation_! With trembling hands, I'm holding his perfect face.

            "I _can't_."

            "Why? We still have eighteen minutes till everyone gets back from dinner," James explains hastily. The man really watches the fucking clock.

            "I'm on my period," I blurt, a lie. But I know that there is no way I'm going to be able to have sex in this place and risk getting caught. The primal part of me is yelling for being scared enough to stop this from progressing, but my lie causes James to stop. He sighs with such disappointment that I can feel it as he rests his forehead against mine. He smiles, nonetheless.

            " _Fuck_ ," he curses, pulling his boxers and jeans all the way back up, buttoning them. And then he starts laughing.

            "I wish you woulda told me that before I got all hard."

            "What? You said that you just wanted to kiss me."

            "You know me, Barbie. I can't just stop there. You _know_ how hard that is for me."

He kisses me on the forehead before helping me off the sink. I check my Fitbit for the time again, unable to ignore the sensation at his waist where he holds me to him. He closes his eyes, moaning again, pulling me away from that part of him.

            "I can tell you're so scared you're gonna get caught," he says, "I can't do this with you starin' at the door every five seconds," he adds.

            "I'm sorry," I mumble shyly. He grins down at me.

            "It's okay, doll. It ain't your fault."

His hands rub up and down my sides, his eyes still full of longing.

            "I shouldn't have told you to come in here," he says, looking down at his crotch, "'Cause now I gotta…"

I hold in a laugh as James unlocks the door on his neighbor's side of the bathroom.

            "So, you're kicking me out?" I ask. James looks away somewhat sheepishly.

            "What, you wanna watch me beat off?" he asks. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he's serious.

            "The last time you caught me doing that, you were pissed I didn't just ask you to screw," he explains. I have no idea what he's talking about, but he thinks that he does.

            "We were fuckin' like rabbits before I left for the war," he explains, that lust clouding his eyes again, "Remember, doll?" Again, there _is_ nothing for me to remember, and I find myself amazed again at the detail his delusions include.

            "I'll watch if you want me to," I state, walking back into the other room to grab the papers James had put on the shelf. He looks at me like he's still trying to eat me before pushing open the door to his bedroom and disappearing. I cock a brow, standing there a few seconds before passing through the bathroom to find James sitting atop the white sheets, pants around his ankles, shirt sitting far away on the shelf, member gripped in both hands. I glance over at his roommate, Davis, who is snoring deeply. James looks over at me.

            "He won't wake up. Trust me," he explains, and suddenly I have the feeling he's done this before. I cross my arms, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. I have walked in on male patients masturbating before, but never from under the covers. The fire between my thighs is only further fueled at the sight of James stroking himself slowly. I have never considered most dicks to be attractive, but his looks to be the perfect size and shape, the one I fantasize about when I touch myself. He moans, looking over at me, and I can't believe this is actually happening.

            "Are you going to hide halfway in the room or get your pretty little ass out here so I can have something good to look at?" James asks, pausing. I laugh through my nose briefly before stepping quietly into the room and leaning against the wall directly in front of him. Those arms aren't the only thing about him that are large. I clear my throat and tug at the collar of the t-shirt I'm wearing underneath my scrubs. Deep down, I just want to tear my clothes off and jump on that damn thing as I watch James's hands pick up the pace, his breathing intensifying as he looks me up and down shamelessly. I realize that sweat is beginning to crinkle the papers in my hand, so I throw them on the desk beside me and cross my arms, biting my top lip with anticipation.

            "Fuck, you're so beautiful," James breathes, leaning back on his prosthetic arm and beginning to pump away at his meat with the flesh hand roughly. His neck reddens and he throws his head back for a handful of seconds, mouth opening skywards, but keeping his groans to a minimum. He inhales sharply through gritted teeth, making direct eye contact with me for an uncomfortable moment. I guesstimate that he must be at _least_ eight inches long, and girthy, enough so that it looks like one of my full hands would definitely not have made his circumference.

            "I really just wanna fuck you, Barbie," he whispers, his hand reaching a pace that creates this blur of flesh before my eyes. It isn't long before he starts thrusting up off the bed into his hand. The muscles in his stomach tighten up, and I can tell by the way that I can't hear his breaths that he's almost finished. He groans lowly and I watch a pearly stream jet up against his bare chest, followed by another of just about the same force. James watches himself ejaculating, moaning audibly now. I steal a glance at Davis, who still hasn't stopped snoring. My mouth hangs open now.

            "Barbie," he breathes, and he's still coming when he looks up at me again lecherously. I'm biting my bottom lip, the hairs at the back of my neck having risen. With his metal hand, he pushes the hair from sticking to his sweaty forehead.

            "Mr. Davis," Nina calls, and James's eyes widen and fixate on the door to his room. I dart into the bathroom and he dives for one of the towels I had given him earlier.

            "Do you want your dinner now?" Nina asks, knocking on the door.

            "Hey—wouldja hold on? I'm _naked_ in here!" Bucky calls from the inside, and I look under the bathroom door to find that he is sliding me the three check sheets I had left atop his desk. I pick them up hastily, stepping through his neighbor's bedroom and back into the dayroom, sweating under the arms heavily and making my way directly for the staff bathroom, where I will take off my ruined underwear and throw them into my backpack.


	6. Chapter 6

             When I walk out of the back room to give the three check sheets to the MCA whose turn it is to do checks, Nina grasps the back of my shirt as I pass her at the computer.

            "My gal, what happened to your shirt? Is all wet," she says. My heart pounds a moment while I recall how it had gotten that way.

            "Uh, someone spilled a cup of water in their room. I tripped in it and I guess it got my back wet," I lie.

            "Ah-ah! You should do incident report. You know you can sue for trip and fall…but I guess because of dee nature of dis place, it's risk you take when coming to work."

Nina and I pause for a handful of seconds, and then break out laughing. I'm glad she has no clue what really caused the small puddle on the back of my shirt. As I hand the check sheets back to the MCA on checks, I see Bucky's roommate, Davis, sitting in the chair by the nursing station, eating the mashed potatoes in his dinner.

            Not wanting to go back near James's room for a while, I decide to wander into the day room closer to the main entrance of the unit. I sit down in there, pick up a magazine. I don't really read it, but instead, go through the events that had occurred in James's room moments prior, trying not to get aroused all over again. I can't stop thinking about the things he's been telling me all afternoon, smiling to myself. And then I frown when I realize that he's probably going to forget all about our talks and our little rendezvous when I get him to start taking his meds and they kick in. I sigh. But I _do_ want to see him get better. He doesn't belong in a craphole like this; he belongs on the outside, avenging shit with his best buddy, Steve.

            It occurs to me that there isn't much I can do about this whole situation except try to help him. At the same time, I feel sad. His are the best kisses I've ever had in my life so far. I hate to think of all of that ending. I'm sitting there pretending to read for around ten minutes before someone comes and sits at the table next to me. A whiff of Old Spice greets my nostrils. I look up from a slightly outdated issue of Entertainment Weekly to see James sitting there, freshly showered and clothed, his hair still damp, combed over to the side. He opens the Styrofoam case inside which his dinner is waiting to be eaten. He doesn't even say anything except to grin at me knowingly as he cuts into a piece of baked chicken breast.

            I look away, staring hard at the text in the magazine I'm holding after looking away with a new sense of embarrassment. Bucky hums cheerfully, chewing with a closed mouth. After really listening to him for a moment, I recognize this tune as something old and really sappy, but I can't think of the name of it. I can't help but be sure I'm the reason that this particular love song is on his brain. When I look at him again, he appears to be reading the cover of the magazine, but catches my eyes when he notices me looking at him. He smiles with a closed mouth before getting up to get some paper towels and a cup of water at the bubbler.

            "Is that our song?" I ask him quietly, unable to hold back a small laugh. James shakes his head and continues humming around a mouthful of steamed broccoli. After swallowing and wiping his mouth, he laughs.

            "It's the one I used to play at Al's before we left, _every time_. God, Barbie, you have the memory of a dead old lady," he explains. I can't help dropping the magazine and covering my mouth with both hands as I laugh. I sigh and glance out of the window where I can see the sun beginning to set behind the trees.

            "Did you ever pick out your dress?" James asks me, and I feel his metal hand rest atop my knee secretively under the table. I almost ask him what for before I recall his delusional state of mind. I glance skywards, pondering.

            "Mmmm, I can't really decide between the two that I narrowed it down to."

James beams at me, and I just about goddamn fall apart. A drop of water falls from his damp hair against the table top.

            "I wish we could find the nearest church and just get outta here right now," he explains, carving in two the last bit of his food.

I sigh, resting my cheek against my fist momentarily, "Me, too." When James finishes his food, he scans the room for a moment before turning to look at me with some disappointment.

            "I don't think we should get too close for the rest of the evening," he says, "Might look suspicious," he finishes, sighing, downing his cup of water. I nod at him, thinking there must already be far too much footage of him near me. He stands to throw away the container his food was in and refill his water. He comes back with two cups of coffee, one for me, and one for himself.

            "It ain't the _real_ stuff. They only do decaf up here. Probably 'cause of the coke heads," James explains, sitting and stirring two packets of Domino sugar into my cup with a plastic spoon. I don't even like coffee, but I'll let him think that I do and drink it. He's not wrong about why there's only decaf on the unit, though; some of the patients who tried to commit suicide via overdose, they come in detoxing, and many of them go seeking _anything_ that could be even mildly stimulating.

            "Thank you, Bucky," I say politely. He grins, stirring sugar into his own cup and glancing over at the TV mounted on the wall for a handful of seconds.

            "Keep almost forgetting that I can't kiss you like normal out here. I'm gonna die," he explains.

            "You'll be fine, James," and I press my hand over his prosthetic where it rests atop the table. He gazes longingly down at my hand. I just watch him do this for a few seconds.

            "God, I love you, Barbara," he whispers, closing his eyes. My heart beats manically. I'm just glad we are far enough away from the few patients playing cards closer to the TV that they won't hear.

            "I love you, too," I admit. I know that this is not possible; he's still a _complete_ stranger to me. And there's no way of me knowing whether half the things he tells me are even _true_. Suddenly, I feel so sad to be reminded that all of this is just a psychosis. I remove my hand from atop James's, realizing that I shouldn't be putting my heart into this situation or I'm gonna get hurt. _Badly_. James smiles at me sideways, and then he starts talking about Steve again, the things he remembers about growing up in Brooklyn with him. I think that despite his illness, some of these things are facts, and I listen, keeping a pleasant expression on my face while I sip bitter coffee, the sugar packets James had mixed into it having done little to improve the taste.

            I sit there listening to him talk until one of my fellow MCAs comes over and somewhat unceremoniously drops the checks binder in front of me. I check the time on my Fitbit and realize that I've been sitting here with James for almost an hour.

            "Oh—can I use that pen?" I ask.

            "Sure," Andrew says cordially, handing it to me.

            "Oh, go on, Bucky. I just have to sign all these," I explain. He pauses for a moment, before continuing about the ungodly number of times he's saved Steve from fights that he was too stupid to keep his scrawny self out of. I can't help but smile; I can't imagine Captain America skinny. It just seems unreal, and James knew him when he was like that. At this moment, I don't feel so sad that James will eventually get better, because I realize that I don't know him the way that Steve knows him. I would rather Steve have his Bucky back. James stops talking and just watches me sign my life away. I glance up at him.

            "Go on, Bucky. I don't have to get up for at least thirteen more minutes," I explain.

            "I just wish you could sit here with me all evening," he says, sighing, cupping his chin in his flesh hand. He watches me with utter adoration and I get weak in the knees for the hundredth time.

            "I'm just glad you're here. I can't talk to anyone else," he adds.

            "Mhmm."

He rubs my knee under the table for a handful of seconds.

 

            By the time meds are to be taken, I am done with safety checks, thankfully. Nina pulls me aside to tell me to go and get James for her. He has not moved from his spot in the dayroom where he was eating dinner and talking to me.

            "Bucky, will you please come take your meds?" I ask gently. As soon as he hears his name, he turns in my direction. He follows me out of the room with a curious look on his face, towards the nursing station where Nina is waiting with a little cup of water and a smaller cup that holds antipsychotics. He looks me in the eyes for a long moment as Nina explains to him that the meds he will take will help him to leave this hospital and go home.

            "Uhm, can I see those for a minute?" I ask, walking behind the nursing station after unlocking the door.

            "I think you might have forgotten a pill," I explain, thankful that James doesn’t realize MCAs aren't authorized to give medication. Nina laughs inaudibly only when she's facing me, and hands me the key to the med room. This is my first time unlocking that door, and I am glad I don't flub as the handle turns. I go inside, and James can still see me through the door's clear window. I pretend to remove the pills and replace them with something else. When I come out of the med room, James is looking really carefully at Nina who is explaining to him what his meds are, James struggling to say the names of them.

            "Here you go, Bucky," I grin. He takes the little cup from me and stares down into it.

            "Please, take," Nina says. I nudge her, and James is too busy staring at the pills to notice me do so. The nurse holds in a laugh. And then in one fell swoop, he throws his head back, popping the pills and swallowing them with a mouthful of water.

            "Thanks be to dee Lord," Nina says, throwing her hands skywards for a moment. James actually laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

            "Can I do mouth check, please? It's just routine," Nina promises. James leans over the desk, as I know he has seen many patients do, and opens his mouth so the nurse can have a look inside. He lifts his tongue and Nina does a little dance that makes me laugh.

            "Tank you, mistah Bucky. You are all set for dee night."

            "Right," he says, clearing his throat as I walk from around the nursing station. He starts back into the day room after eying me with relief, tacitly thanking me.

 

            I have never left work _wanting_ to turn around and run back into the building. But I guess there's a first time for everything. It's 11:45PM now as I start my car and yawn really loudly; James had been talking to me in the back day room, trying to stall so I couldn't leave. I just wish that I would be working tomorrow. I didn't _dare_ to tell James that I won't be there; I don't think it will do him much good to know he won't see me for a day. Or maybe I should have told him. I don't know. I only hope that he continues to behave the way that he has otherwise, sort of keeping to himself and not bothering anybody. Because if he gets in a fight with another patient, I'm sure he could do a fuckton of damage, and that would also signal to Dr. Rothe that he's not ready to return to society.

 

            I get a phone call that wakes me up a little past 9AM the following morning. I hadn't gotten into bed until 1AM, and I mentally chastise myself for not having turned my phone off. Half awake, I reach over my bed to pick my phone up off its charger. I recognize, with half open eyes, the area code of Saint Greenley Psychiatric. I answer it, trying to sound as awake as possible.

            "Lord have mercy—my gal," and I sit up straight in bed at the sound of Nina's voice, "We need you here immediately. Dis morning, he has taken turn for dee _worse_. Bucky refused his meds again, punched hole in dee walls, then closed himself inside dee sensory room so we cannot give him injection. He will _not_ come out to take his med. He is holdin' dee door closed from dee inside. His arm is _too_ strong to get dee door open. Can you come and talk sense into dis patient? He is askin' for _you_. Dee nursing supahvisah cannot even get him to calm down—"

            "O-okay, Nina. I'll—just give me…it's still rush hour. It will take me some time to get in. I'm coming right now."

            "Just come as quick as you can. I'm sorry to disturb you, Damon is ready to call dee police."

            "Tell him not to do that. Tell him I'm on my way."

            "Just try to hurry."

I stumble into my bathroom and hurriedly wash my face. I rinse my mouth with Listerine instead of brushing my teeth, and brush my hair well before tucking it into a bun. I grab the same scrub pants as I wore the night before and throw on a sports bra to wear under a solid gray t-shirt. I just grab my bag and a bottle of water—not even any food, and head out the door. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me more than twenty-five minutes to drive to Saint Greenley; I only live about a fifteen-minute drive away, but any weekday morning (except for the weekend) would have meant traffic.

            I hurry as fast as I can to South 4, to find the nursing supervisor, Damon, poking through his phone, Lewis and Andrew leaning against the wall opposite the sensory room, where James is inside, holding the door closed against anyone who might try to open it. I spot my friend Thuy, and a few other MCAs, all wearing nitrile gloves, protocol whenever staff are called to a code. I realize automatically that someone must have called a code yellow (psychiatric crisis), which is why there are more MCAs and nurses standing around the sensory room than we need on the unit.

            Thuy waves at me before pointing into the sensory room, then at the wall not far in the distance where there are three visible holes broken through them. I sigh, shaking my head. As soon as I come into view, James stops looking so tense, staring at my coworkers outside of the sensory room. I knock on the door.

            "Bucky, you told me you were gonna start taking meds, remember?" I ask. He looks at me with some shame before glaring behind me at the other staff.

            "Sir, if you don't open this door, I'm gonna have to call the police," Damon reminds calmly, getting close enough that he knows James can hear him through the plexiglass.

            "It's either pills or injection. We're just trying to help you," Damon explains. Bucky extends one shiny, metal middle finger at the nursing supervisor before gripping the handle of the door again. Damon sighs, shaking his head.

            "Alright—it's been long enough. I'm dialin'."

            "Wait—give me the pills," I explain, turning around and hoping Damon won't make the call.

            "Eh-heh. Damon, hold on," Nina says, bustling towards the nursing station now, "If I give dem to Eden, he will take. He did it last night."

            "I don't know that that's going to work _now_ ," Damon calls, pausing before pressing the button that will connect him with the police.

            "Hold on, hold on," Nina chimes. Damon sighs, tapping his foot.

            "What are you, some type of guardian angel?" Damon asks me sarcastically I laugh.

            "Hey, if this works, I'm giving you a raise and putting you on double shifts for tomorrow and Thursday. Hopefully these meds will kick in sooner rather than later. I don't want this happening again," Damon explains. I turn back to the window to find James glaring out of it at everyone but me.

            "It's going to be okay, James," I explain, disappearing out of view to get the pills from Nina. He watches me disappear momentarily. When I come back with the tiny cup of pills and a cup of water in hand, James actually opens the door. Lewis and Andrew lean off the wall, ready to defend me. James pulls me into the sensory room, shutting the door again, and Damon's eyes widen with utter fear as James holds the door closed again. I shake my head at everyone, trying to assure them that I'll be fine, but Lewis is already knocking on the window, Andrew and Damon trying to force the door open, begging James to let me out of the room. He ignores them and takes the small cup from me, tipping it back into his mouth, followed by the water. He swallows, then opens his mouth for Nina to confirm that he didn't cheek anything.

            James slams on the window once in irritation with his flesh hand before dropping against the wall on the floor to cry audibly into his hands. And now Damon pushes the door open to find me already starting to kneel at James's side to comfort him. James leans into my arm and I just keep smoothing my hand through his hair. The nursing supervisor looks on in confusion and disbelief.

            "They're all tryna fuck me up, Barbie, I _know it_ ," James sobs.

            "Don't worry, I won't let anyone do that, okay?" I explain confidently. James buries his face in my shoulder, causing me to lose balance on the floor so that I end up sitting on my ass.

            "Alright, you got him to take the pills, but I think it would be better if he went into four-point restraints," Damon says with concern.

            "Nobody better fuckin' touch me, or I'll burn this place to the ground, you motherfucker," James snarls, lifting his head to glare at Damon. By now, Lewis has edged his way into the small room, unconvinced that James isn't a threat to me.

            "James, just look at me," I state calmly, and he does, "I need you to calm down, alright? Nobody's going to put you in anything, but you _have_ to calm down," I explain. He takes a deep breath, and then another one, and another as I rub his shoulder. His fists are balled against the tops of my feet, and it becomes clear to everyone that he's just about done with this little episode.

            "Lewis, Andrew, I want you guys to just stand right here for me," Damon explains before stepping out of the room.

            "Go the fuck away," James says once Damon is out of earshot, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes. I can tell that he's talking to Lewis and Andrew.

            "Are you going to keep punching walls?" Lewis asks calmly.

            " _No_ ," James mutters. Lewis eyes me, giving me thumbs up with a questionable look on his face. I nod and motion for him and Andrew to leave, and a few seconds pass before the two MCAs step out of the room, leaving the door open. I wipe James's eyes with a Kleenex from the little packet that's in my pocket. At this point, he opens them, eyes shining at me before they travel the room to make sure we're alone.

            "What happened, James?" I ask.

He shrugs, shaking his head and closing his eyes, having gone down from ten to about a three. He press his face into my shoulder again and cries. I feel my heart breaking bit by bit.

            " _I just want to leave_ ," he explains, "Jesus, I don't know what the hell I did to deserve this."  I hold his hand, the one type of physical contact we're allowed to express when trying to comfort a patient. It's a good thing that Damon has left the unit now, otherwise I'm sure he'd be telling James to get his face off of me.

            "I just want to go _home_ …but I don't even know where that _is_. I'm so confused, Barbie," he sobs.

            "Shhh."

His head is heated beneath my hand and I just keep telling him that I'm here, that he'll be alright, even though I don't really know whether that's true.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's gonna be some changes next chapter once he starts snapping back into reality. Poor, delusional baby.

            Listening to James cry makes _me_ want to cry, and I keep dabbing my eye with the collar of my shirt. He holds my hands a bit tighter, exhaling in broken bits. I wonder how long it will take for these antipsychotics to start taking effect. For some patients, they start working as soon as a few days after they start taking them, but for others, it can be up to weeks. Despite being intrigued by the way that this patient is drawn to me, I hate seeing him suffer like this.

            "I wasn't gonna hurt anyone, Barbie," he finally admits, looking down at me, "I was just angry that they were tellin' me I have to take these pills. I told Nina no, and she said they were gonna have to restrain me if I refused to comply. I wasn't gonna let anybody touch me, that's all—I just wanted them to stay away," he explains, clearly wanting me to know he wasn't planning on hurting anyone.

            "It's okay," I say soothingly.

            "I thought you were gonna be here when I woke up. I wasn't happy…" he adds, and I already know that this is part of what had set him off. I pull another tissue from the small packet and rub his nose.

            "I'm sorry, James. I should have told you I wouldn't be back until Wednesday. I know you're a good guy, Bucky…but not everyone else knows that. You can't go punching holes in the walls. It makes other patients nervous," I explain calmly. He sighs.

            "I'm sorry."

Another tear rolls down his cheek as he closes those brilliant blue eyes, and I dab the drop away. He grips my wrist in his metal hand, bringing both of my hands to his lips, where he proceeds to kiss them apologetically. I find myself praying that neither Lewis nor Andrew will walk by and see him doing this. I want to melt into a giant puddle where I sit.

            "I promise I won't do it again," he whispers, leaning down and kissing my forehead. When he sits up straight, he's not crying anymore. He looks at me in a longing kind of way and my ribs just about shatter to let my heart break free. I rub his metallic hand, which has an odd texture to it. I haven't really focused on it before, but as James turns his palm skywards to allow me to drag my fingers across it, I wonder whether he can feel the faintness of my touch there.

            "That tickles," he says, smiling, my question resolved.

            "S-sorry," I whisper. James giggles. Lewis passes by the window for a second, and I'm glad that James is too focused on me to notice; I don't want him freaking out again. He can't seem to tolerate it when any other staff try to interact with him, at least when I'm not there.

            "I love you, Barbie. You always make me feel better…no matter how shitty my day is, no matter what I'm going through," he says, pushing his flesh arm behind my back against the wall and wrapping it around my waist.

            "…Aside from Steve, I don't think I woulda survived the war without you. Your letters always told me you weren't gonna give up on me." At this, I _do_ begin to cry, because James doesn't remember what happened to him; he doesn't remember things correctly. I figure it's better that he can't seem to recall being tortured into submission to be a ruthless assassin for Hydra. It suddenly sets in that it's _no wonder_ he ended up in a place like this. He must, on another level outside of his psychosis, be haunted by all the people he's killed. I find him clutching my shoulders then, looking concerned.

            "What did I say, doll?" he asks desperately. It's now that I notice the hot tears on my cheeks.

            "N-nothing," I lie, reading his eyes. He transitions to his knees in front of me, not believing me.

            "I _promise_ , Barbie, I won't lose it again. I know these people are just insane, and it ain't their fault, but I swear to you: I'd never lay a hand on them."

            "I know you won't," I manage to pipe up.

            "I'm just…upset for you. I don't want you to be in here anymore."

He's rubbing my hips comfortingly. He nods, glancing behind him out of the window of the sensory room to make sure no one is watching. He then pulls me in for a kiss that is breathtaking, leaving me utterly screaming on the inside when he lets me go. He does it just in time as Andrew gazes through the window to check in on us again.

            "When I get out of here, you can quit, and we'll run away together somewhere nice. Just us, Barbie," James promises. I nod. He gives me the smallest smile.

            "I don't want to go back out there. Will you just stay with me a while?" he asks, resuming his seat against the wall. I nod, and he intertwines his flesh fingers in mine, letting his head fall back against the wall. We hear some static for a second as someone manually tunes the radio from the back room behind the nursing station, and then we are met with the pleasantness of some Oldies music. I eventually spread my legs out in front of me where I sit, the limbs beginning to fall asleep. It doesn't help that I'm still exhausted. I gaze out of the window that faces the outside of the hospital, the trees swaying calmingly not too far away.

            I feel a pressure against me, which causes me to slide into the corner, and when I try to turn, I'm met with James's sleeping face. Nina must have also slipped him a sedative. I laugh ever so quietly, completely smooshed in the corner. This sleep is deep enough that I know he won't wake easily. I just try to turn a little bit more, and his handsome head slides down my body, until eventually, he is about halfway in my lap. He mutters incoherently, readjusting in his less-than-half-awake state. I smooth his hair down with my palms, allowing his head to rest in my lap. It's a heavy, heated presence, and it feels good. His hair is so soft as I brush my fingers through it.

            "Damn, he went down fast," Lewis says quietly, popping into the room again. I give him the thumbs up sign and he walks away, obviously not wanting to wake James and create more drama. I see some of the familiar faces of the guys from the maintenance department passing by the window. I already know that they're coming to fill in and paint over the holes that James punched into the walls. He's not the first patient to destroy shit on the unit; maintenance is used to this. I manage to sit there with James's head in my lap for an hour before it's unbearable for my tailbone to continue sitting on hardwood. I move very carefully, surprised that I'm strong enough to hold some of his upper body (though it's still _really_ heavy) and gently reposition him. He doesn't wake up. I couldn't hold in my pee any longer.

            I rush to the back room where Lewis is already talking to a female MCA who is eating some graham crackers she pilfered from the patient snack bin.

            "Oh, look," Lewis states, grinning, "The miracle worker."

I smile, excusing myself as I pass between the two of them to get to the bathroom.

            "Don't wake him up. He's still sleeping in the sensory room," I explain. My coworkers laugh, asking me if I'm crazy because there's no way they're going to try and wake him up after all that drama. I'm thankful that James is still asleep by the time I creep back into the sensory room. I sit there for another hour before the nursing manager, Damon, returns with a clipboard in his hands. He gently taps the window of the sensory room, asking me to come out.

            "Good, the beast is down," he says, rolling his eyes, "I know you're per diem, but since he likes you so much, can you stay until around 9PM when he gets evening meds?"

            "Sure. I can do that."

            "You can go home after that, and I have already scheduled you for a double Wednesday and Thursday," Damon says, looking nervous that I'll refuse, "It means a bigger paycheck," he adds immediately, thinking that I need motivation.

            "I'll do it."

            "Thank god. He's on one-to-one now after that wall incident." Damon hands me the clipboard with James's check sheet on it, "I would _really_ prefer only male staff to handle him in particular, but Nina kept telling me that he only listens to you. And I guess that's true because he would only take the meds if you handed them to him. Unbelievable." Damon hands me a pen and makes his way hurriedly back off the unit. I laugh before returning to the sensory room to watch James. His face rests in the palm of his flesh hand, his breaths full and relaxed. I sit in the one plastic chair in the corner, unable to tolerate the floor any longer, and write every fifteen minutes that James is sleeping on his right side in the sensory room.

            I get so sleepy watching him, wanting to just curl up beside him into the shelter of his body and doze off. He sleeps through lunch, and it's almost three o'clock by the time he wakes up. I'm standing at the window that faces the outdoors when I feel him wrap his arms around me from behind. I gasp, not having heard him shift. He laughs, releasing me so I can turn around. I place a hand over my heart.

            "Sorry, doll," he explains, rubbing his eyes which are somewhat red rimmed, making him look as tired as I feel.

            "Enjoy your nap?" I ask.

            "What time is it?" he asks.

            "Almost three."

            "Whole day has gone by," he says groggily.

            "Is that bastard gone?" he asks.

I fight a smile, "Which one?"

            "Think his name was…Derrick. I don't care, just tell me he's not waiting out there to fuck with me some more."

            "He's gone," I promise. James smiles and starts out of the room to go to his own. Carrying the clipboard, I follow him. This is now my actual job until further notice. I follow him into his room, his roommate dead asleep. James disappears into the bathroom and I stand against the wall with him out of sight while he pees. The toilet flushes and the sink runs and he comes out of the room, looks at the door, closes it, and then grabs me. He hugs me very tightly, sighing. I wrap an arm around his neck and as soon as I look up at him, he kisses me. I laugh as he slowly leads me back to his bed, kissing me with each step. When he lies me there (with some effort because I kept sitting up), I stand up. He frowns.

            "I can't," I whisper, looking away nervously, scribbling that he's now located in his bedroom on the check sheet. James picks the board up out of my hands, scanning it curiously.

            "I have to watch you. That's usually what happens after a patient does something crazy," I explain.

            "Well, you can watch me all you like, doll. I don't mind," he says seductively. I pull the clipboard out of his hands and he laughs, sitting on the bed and patting the seat beside him.

            "But someone is still on safety checks, so they'll be coming by and opening the door to check on Davis," I explain, eying his roommate. James crosses his arms, glaring at the sleeping man.

            "I just wanna hold you, Barb," he sighs, staring out the window, clutching his pillow in place of me.

            "I know. But we can't get caught. If we do, they'll put me elsewhere, remember?"

            "I know. I know," James says with disappointment.

He looks me up and down a moment longer, and then his stomach growls loudly, his eyes widening. He laughs as I lean back against the wall.

            "Did I miss lunch?" he asks. I nod.

            "They'll have your food out there if you ask for it," I explain. James sits up, and he just stands there looking at me with this mischievous smile. He steps closer until he's just leering down at me. He's a huge guy, and as his stomach growls again, I wonder how many calories he eats a day.

            "Well, I'm not gonna get a chance to taste this sugar again for a while, so let me make the most of it," he says, pulling me abruptly up the wall and pressing his body to mine. My knees cling at his sides and I let him slip his tongue in my mouth for a while. His stomach growls again and I smile against his lips. After a solid minute or so, James releases me, pulling my hand as he makes it towards the door. He releases my hand before we are in view and I follow him to the nursing station where he asks Nina for his lunch. She calls out to Lewis, who is in the back room again, and it isn't long before he walks out with a Styrofoam package in his hands. He leans over the desk of the nursing station to hand it to James.

            I follow James into the day room, and he sits where we had been sitting before, when he told me that I have the memory of a dead old lady. The thought makes me laugh quietly. He smiles at me, cutting into a piece of what looks like steak, flowerettes of broccoli scattered around it.

            "You want some, doll?" he asks. I know that I can't possibly share a meal with a patient, and though it smells fucking delectable, I decline.

            "I'll get something later," I reassure him.

            "Oh, come on, sweety. There's barely any colour in your cheeks," he says, pushing the container towards me and offering me the fork. I quickly pick up a piece of broccoli and shove it into my mouth without anyone noticing. James laughs.

            "That's hardly enough—"

I pick up the piece of steak he'd cut and cram it into my mouth, chewing hastily.

            "Atta girl," he says. I beam shyly across the room. James cuts up the steak a little further, egging me to sneak another piece, so I do. He eventually gets up to grab us both coffee, and I listen to him talk again, for hours this time, since I am not officially at work, really. I just have to sit there and watch him. After several cups of water and coffee, he gets up to go pee again, and when he comes out of his bathroom to find that I haven't ventured into the room, he beckons me there to steal more kisses.

            At 7PM, I am beyond hungry, and I ask Lewis (who James appears to be able to tolerate somewhat) to handle his check sheet while I go to grab dinner down the street from one of the restaurants. James follows me to the door at the front of the unit, looking worried, scared almost.

            "Don't leave me, Barbie," he begs, gripping my wrist.

            "I'll only be gone about forty minutes, Bucky," I promise, "I just need to eat something and I'll come back," I promise him. He eyes Lewis for a second, Lewis's eyes fixed on Bucky's metal hand around my wrist. I'm sure Lewis is afraid that James will break it, but I know that he won't.

            "I'll be back, okay? I promise," I explain. James sighs, releasing me.

            "Please, just keep your distance, bub," he says to Lewis, turning around and pacing back down the hall while I go to get myself food. I stop at one of the American bar & grill type restaurants just down the street from Saint Greenley Psychiatric. That's one nice thing about working at this hospital; you could order lunch from just about anywhere, if you wanted to, and pick it up from the receptionist to bring to the staff lounge. But I actually venture off the property to go get my dinner. I find myself already missing listening to James talk. He's _so_ sweet to me, despite what everyone else seems to get when they interact with him.

            I can't help smiling while I eat a sandwich, thinking about him. I down a few cups of water to hydrate myself, pay with a debit card, and walk hurriedly back to the hospital. When I get inside, I can hear the receptionist urgently calling a code green directed at South 4. With a pang of worry that James might be acting up again, I hurry there, met by a few other MCAs coming to figure out what's going on. The first thing I see is the infamous patient, Emily, rolling on the carpeted floor with handfuls of another female patient's hair in her grip. Lewis is already trying to pull them apart, and before I or any of the other MCAs can make it to the brawling women, James pries the pair apart, physically lifting Emily off the ground, making her release the other patient's hair. Lewis pauses during all of this, staring in disbelief at James, who manages to block Emily's way when she starts trying to kick the woman who's still on the ground.

            "Get the fuck out of my way!" Emily shouts, throwing a punch into James's chest. This barely seems to bother him.

            "Hey—just calm down, lady," he says, continuously stepping in Emily's way when she tries to kick and hit at the patient whose hair she was pulling.

            "What's this all about," Lewis asks, helping the crying lady up off the floor.

            "I _told_ the bitch to _stop lockin' my door_! I'm sittin' in there, ready to pee my-fuckin'-self…" Emily goes on and on, and I realize that the patient she was beating on was her neighbor.

            "Alright—just ask staff to unlock the doors next time," Lewis explains calmly while some MCAs help the crying lady into her room and close the door to talk with her. Emily curses, trying to run to her neighbor's door. James successfully stops her from going after her neighbor a second time, merely by standing in her way, Lewis telling her repeatedly to calm down. Emily looks up at James with frustration and slaps him across the face. I gasp, worried that this will set him off, but he just tells her calmly to stop.

            "They're gonna throw you in the quiet room and restrain you again if you don't quit," James warns. Emily storms away into her room, slamming the door. Lewis continues to look at James in disbelief; it's almost as if in that moment, Bucky had become an MCA himself. But then I wonder whether the situation would have been the same had it been a fight between male patients that he tried to break up. I take the clipboard back from Lewis, who hadn't noticed my return.

            "Uhhh," he says, wanting to say something to James, but not really knowing what.

James laughs, touching his cheek where a red mark is surfacing.

            "Jeez, are you okay, James?" I ask, "Let's ask the nurse for some ice."

            "Ain't nothin' but a little bitch slap. I'll be fine, doll," he promises me, walking to the back day room to sit in one of the plastic chairs. But I gently lift his chin and eye the mark with worry. He smiles.

            "Sit down, honey. I'm alright. I've had much worse," he promises me. I sigh and take a seat beside him.

            "You shoulda seen it," he says, "That lady just _lost it_. Stormed into her neighbor's room and dragged the poor woman out, yellin' at her about lockin' doors. Man, this really _is_ a nuthouse," he explains, tapping my hand where it rests on the arm of my seat.

            "If I hadn't've jumped in when I did, she woulda really killed that poor woman," he explains. And I recall seeing a small handful of hair on the floor where Emily had been rolling.

            "You're too brave, Bucky," I state. He laughs again.

            "You broads can be pretty dangerous, too. To each other, at least," he says, yawning and stretching his arms skywards. I realize that James is kind of sexist, but I try not to let that get to me too much. We watch some sort of movie that's playing on the TV and a little past nine o'clock, Nina makes her way to the back to find James. He stares at Nina distrustfully when she asks him to come get his vitals so he can take his medication.

            "It'll be okay, Bucky," I promise, standing and offering him my hand. He hesitates, but takes my hand and allows me to lead him to the nursing station. He sits there and starts smiling when I take his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse; he just likes for me to touch him. Again, he takes the meds when I hand them to him. Nina pulls me aside for a moment to explain to me that he has also been given a sedative, and that once he goes to sleep, I should go home because I'm expected to be back at 7AM tomorrow. I nod, and James doesn't stop asking me what Nina was saying to me as we walk to his room. I lie and tell him the nurse said she's too afraid to take his vitals herself after what he did to the wall. James just smiles. I lean against the wall in his room with the clipboard and his check sheet.

            "Hey, you think I can shave?" he asks me, popping his head out of the bathroom where steam comes out behind him.

            "Yeah, but I have to watch you do it," I explain, "Those are the rules around here."

James smiles, "Why? So I don't kill myself?" he asks. I pause for a moment before answering.

            "Yes." He stops smiling so much and asks me to wait while he showers. I sit in the chair at his desk, Lewis popping his head in the room to check on Davis. He nods at me before ducking out again. I transition to the bed a moment later, and when James comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, I get aroused. He doesn't even warn me first, he just drops his towel and changes into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a form fitting white t-shirt. By the time he turns around to ask me for a razor, I can see that the meds he took are starting to have an effect. He blinks slowly. I pat the spot beside me on the bed. He sighs and rests his head atop mine for a moment. I giggle, and he grabs my middle, falling back with me and maneuvering his heavy self on top of me before I can make any objection.

            "Yer so pretty with yer little butt, Barbie," James mumbles. He is utterly drugged now. I stifle a laugh as he grabs at my ass.

            "Ouch!" I whisper fiercely through laughs. He starts to rub himself between my thighs aggressively, making me drop the clipboard and moan.

            "Come _on_ ," he mumbles, "Just real quick, doll, 'fore I pass out," he whispers. I press a hand firmly in the center of his chest and he sighs, dropping to his side. I stand up and make him roll into an appropriate position in his bed.

            "You can shave tomorrow. You're too sleepy to do it now," I explain, hating that I'm already so wet in my underwear. As much as I would love to give into his delusion, there's no way I'm getting caught like that in a place like this. He groans.

            "One'uh these days, Barbie, we're gonna fornicate _right here_ ," he slurs with conviction, pointing to the bed. I laugh genuinely, pulling the covers up to his shoulder.

            "Why'm I s'damn tired?" he asks, fighting to keep his eyes open.

            "Probably just all the evening's action catching up with you," I explain before kissing his cheek. In the process, he grabs my hips, turning onto his back and pulling me atop him.

            "Wha' the _hell_ didjah gimme, Bahbra…poison?" he mumbles, "I can barely even g-get it up." And I figure that this is for the better.

            "Shhhh," I urge him, brushing his hair back smoothly, the strands still wet from the shower. I kiss his mouth chastely, causing him to smile. His eyes close again and his metal hand pinches my ass.

            "Ow!" I whisper, shoving at his arm. He laughs under his breath before yawning.

            "You have to let me up now," I explain.

            "N-n-no," he mumbles playfully. But his grip gradually grows weaker and he stops talking, and then he is straight up asleep. I get out of there and hurry home, but not before handing off his check sheet to Lewis, who is already doing a double shift and won't leave until 11:30PM. I just can't wait to get home and grab my vibrator, because Bucky rubbing all over me like that had really gotten me going.


	8. Chapter 8

            Damon didn't lie about putting me on doubles, but I'm not sure he was genuine about the raise. I figure I'll have to wait until the following Thursday when my next payment notification comes in the mail to see whether he held up that end of the bargain. I finish checking the website where my shifts have been scheduled, and roll over in bed from successfully inducing three orgasms. Normally, I despise waking up as early as 6AM, but to see James, I'd wake up at any hour.

 

            When I walk onto the unit and after report, I find that James has not yet woken up. Part of me worries that he will end up sleeping through the entire day because of his medications, but he wakes up shortly after breakfast, another MCA having been given the first assignment to handle his one-to-one. The first thing James does is search the unit until he finds me sitting in the front day room. I'm at the same table where we sat before while he ate. He smiles at me and I grin, looking up from where I sit. His hair is disheveled somewhat, and as he walks away to go and request his breakfast, he pulls the mess into a pony tail at the back of his head.

            "I can take his check sheet," I explain to the MCA who had been following him since the end of the night shift. The MCA, newer staff I haven't met yet, hands me the clipboard and the pen they were using, thanking me (no one likes to be on one-to-ones). James returns with his food and sits down near me. His breath is minty when he yawns, but he looks like he's still missing sleep.

            "I woke up and realized you weren't sleeping on top of me where I left you," he explains with obvious irritation, cocking an eyebrow and opening a carton of milk before taking a large sip. I smile nervously.

            "I can't stay here overnight. You know that," I explain to him quietly.

            "Jeez, Barbie…what the helljah gimme last night?" he says, downing a cup of water. He tells me it was hard for him to wake up, but he didn't want to turn into a lazy sack of potatoes and sleep in bed all day.

            "Just some sleeping pills," I lie, patting his hand gently atop the table as he takes a small bite of a boiled egg. He sighs repeatedly for a moment before going to refill his cup of water. I watch him stand at the bubbler for a while, filling and downing cup after cup. He eventually makes two cups of coffee and places one in front of me before resuming his seat and stirring sugar into both the cups.

            "Thank you," I explain, reaching for the cup, just wanting to hold something hot.

            "Listen, sweety," he says, lowering his voice, looking around briefly to ensure no other staff are standing in earshot, "I gotta plan to get out of this joint once and for all." My heart sinks. Breaking out of this hospital is the last thing he should be trying to do. He tells me something about the air vents, and I almost laugh. I know that those don't work the same way they do in the movies, when people crawl through them. At James's size, he would _definitely_ have fallen through, had he managed to find one big enough for him to crawl into. He tells me he's seen one inside the team room (the place where report happens, a room that patients can't access, except briefly when they meet with the docs during the day) that he thinks might work, but that I'll have to find a way to sneak him in there. By morning med time, Carrie, one of the nurses on for this shift, makes her way into the kitchen where James and I are still sitting.

            "Are you James Barnes?" she asks. James turns in his seat to eye the short redheaded lady up and down.

            "Depends on who's asking," he says cautiously.

            "Hi, I'm Carrie, your nurse for today."

            "Where's Nina?" he asks, looking past her. Somehow, the way that he says this makes it sound like he's almost fond of the other nurse, and doesn't trust this new one even harder. I figure it's good that he can at least start to recall things outside of his psychosis.

            "Oh, she's not on schedule for today, but I promise you, I do my job just as well as she does. Now that you've eaten, will you please take your meds?" she asks. James sighs, looking at me. Carrie winks at me without James seeing, and I realize that the word must have gotten around that James is the sort of patient you have to be very careful with regarding meds.

            "I'll get them for you, Bucky," I promise. He follows Carrie and I out of the kitchen and she allows me inside the med room behind the nursing station.

            "Yeah, I can't believe Damon okayed this. But apparently, it's the only way to get this guy to take his antipsychotics," Carrie explains, laughing inside the med room before passing the small cup of pills to me.

            "Nina has been slipping him sedatives, and they seem to be getting him to calm down. But since he's awake and active, I won't give him one until later when you have to leave."

            "Thanks," I giggle. But as I hand the small cocktail of drugs to James from behind the nursing station, I feel like I'm betraying him. And I guess I _am_. But I'm only betraying the James I know—the psychotic one. The one who has no place in this reality. He smiles at me after downing the pills, leaning far over the desk to allow Carrie, at her short height, to do a quick mouth check.

            "Can I shave today?" he asks.

            "Sure. Let me get the razors," I explain, going through the door that leads me to the back room. I find the razors and pull out the shaving cream that goes with them, donning a pair of nitrile gloves. James is waiting for me patiently at the desk when I return, and I follow him back into his room. He stands on the inside, smiling, holding the door open. As soon as I get through, he closes the door all the way and snatches the razors and shaving cream out of my hands. I gasp, wondering why he'd grab the items, but before I know it, he is picking me up and carrying me to his bed. I realize that Davis is no longer sleeping in the other bed. In fact, the only clothes left in the wall's built-in dresser are James's, and I can tell that the sheets and bedspread have been changed, awaiting the next patient. Davis must have been transferred to the north side; he's way too inactive a patient to be on South 4.

            James carries me with the ease of a doll, and right as I start opening my mouth to object, he starts talking.

            "Tom just did a round and checked my room, so we've got about fifteen minutes before he comes back." His mouth is hungry on my throat, and my pants fall around my ankles. I can't think much when he manages to trap me under the heat of his huge body, struggling with his sweatpants briefly. He starts grinding on me again, and it doesn't take long for him to get hard.

            "Thought you wanted to shave," I whisper, feeling his chin where the scruff is noticeable now.

            "That's not really my number one concern at the moment, Barbie," he says before suffocating me with kisses. Right when I'm about to object, I find his flesh hand in my underwear, his middle and index fingers inside my vagina, causing me to gasp. I grab at his wrist as he starts making thrusting motions with his hand, but I don't really try to shove him away.

            "I'm gonna need you to get wet, doll," he whispers. About this matter, he's absolutely right; I've seen him fully erect before, and know that there's _no way_ I would have even tried to take that thing while dry. After a moment of watching me with this lust-ridden grin, squirming and reacting to his ministrations, he sits up on his knees, dragging my hips towards his waist, forcing my underwear off in the process. I can't believe this is _really_ about to happen now. I only cup my mouth shut with my gloved hands and watch him slide my legs easily over his shoulders. I'm just glad that I decided to shave them last night, to be perfectly honest. He drags his wet tongue across my ankle, distracting me from the much larger issue at his waist. A breath catches in his throat as he pokes through my entrance, staying there for a handful of seconds.

            "You're gonna have to be quiet," he whispers. I close my eyes, awaiting the gradual progression, but then he just slams it inside me as far as would allow given the position, and I whimper, glad I'd kept my hands over my mouth, and that the TV outside is _just_ loud enough that no one will be any the wiser to what's going on inside James's room. I feel his hands tremble on my thighs momentarily as he adjusts to the tightness of my body engulfing him. It's red all through his neck and cheeks as he begins to thrust mildly. He bites his bottom lip, cussing quietly, trying to keep me pulled as close to his body as possible.

            Years of masturbating in my room and not wanting my siblings to hear has taught me to keep quiet, even through orgasm. Now I'm just worried that someone will open the door; the bedroom doors don't have locks on them, for obvious reasons. The bathrooms do, but I would have felt far less comfortable being fucked on the dirty ass floor. James grabs my hips, throwing his head back and opening his mouth, propelling himself harder into me, but no sound escapes his lips except for a deep exhale. It's odd; I wonder whether James knew he'd only fit inside me so well in this position. It allows him to a depth that I thought was only possible in doggy style, but I enjoy it all the more, the harder he thrusts.

            My legs eventually fall down his shoulders, and he just hooks them in his arms, pounding away and gazing down between my thighs to watch himself continuously disappear and reappear through my wet maw. There's more life in his brilliant eyes than I have seen in all my time spent with him. I grab his pillow from the top of the bed and use it to muffle myself as an orgasm hits me. It causes my thighs to quake in attempts to shut, but James holds them open mercilessly, not allowing me to just settle in the moment, but fucking away, fucking me into oblivion, exhaling harder due to the contracting sensations he can feel rippling from within me. He pulls out suddenly, turning away from me, and for a moment, I'm utterly confused and disappointed, until he allows the smallest of moans to escape his mouth and I watch his seed spill copiously onto the floor, some of it hitting the wall a few feet away. All the veins in his neck are coursing, it almost looks like he's trying not to scream.

            "Oh my god," I breathe, throbbing with the sensation that I'm still being fucked. The actual fucking must not have been more than seven or eight minutes, but frankly, the longest (and _best_ ) session of actual coitus I've ever experienced with a guy. It lasted long enough that I feel how wet I am upon standing up, grabbing my underwear and scrub pants, and disappearing into the bathroom to put them on again. I have to wipe myself up with a handful of paper towels, my legs literally trembling. It's like the orgasm still isn't over.

            "Oh m-my god," I continue to whisper redundantly, and I'm suddenly really glad that I didn't try to stop James from fucking me again. I have to take a handful of deep breaths to try and recollect myself. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I am positively radiant. Despite how little sleep I got the previous night and the small amount of makeup I'm wearing, my eyes have taken on a new light that could probably have blinded a stranger. My whole body is singing from the inside out. The knocking on the door startles me, and I push it open with a trembling hand. James is standing there with a towel I suppose he used to clean himself up. He smiles in at me sideways, knowingly. There's no way he didn't physically feel me have that orgasm. It was so intense that I almost wonder if what I used to think  were orgasms, were actually orgasms.

            "You alright, sweetheart?" he asks, still looking like a sly, dirty motherfucker, and for a moment, I fear that he wants to fuck me in the shower next. His shirt is gone, and there's a fresh towel around his waist. I know that he is otherwise naked.

            "U-uhm," I stutter, too shy to meet his gaze. There's a knock on the door and James's head whips in its direction.

            "Your roommate's gone?" Tom asks. I blanche, praying that Tom won't come into the bathroom to find me standing there. Not that it would have been too bad; I'm not naked from the waist down anymore.

            "Got transferred sometime this morning," James explains emptily. I hear Tom starting towards the bathroom door.

            "You don't gotta do that, it's just me in here—I'm about to get in the shower," James explains, and I hear Tom's footsteps dissipate until the door closes. James rolls his eyes once Tom disappears. He's got the razor and shaving cream now. He places them on the sink before pausing to throw the dirty towel into the corner in his room. He holds me by the waist and kisses my forehead before proceeding to open the shaving cream and douse his neck and jawline.

            "Toldja we would fornicate here one of these days, Barbie," he says, dragging the razor casually across his heavily structured cheek with a triumphant smile. I blush severely at the fact that he actually remembers what he said while hopped up on sedatives. I figure his body doesn't handle that stuff the same way a regular person's would, you know, owing to the whole super soldier thing. I'm at a loss for words, my knees like spaghetti, and I start to fall back into the shower where I slip from leaning against the wall. The dick was _that_ good. James is laughing, having put the razor down to pull me out of the curtain and steady me.

            "Say somethin', Barb," he begs with a big smile.

            "That was incredible," I sigh. The fact that his face is covered in shaving cream, making him look almost like Santa Claus, causes me to laugh in response, sliding down the wall until I'm sitting there on the floor, my hips aching pleasantly. Little do I know, this pleasant ache will become a soreness that will last for days. I've never been fucked quite that well in my life. I just sit there, dazed, watching him shave. He pauses every now and again, rinsing the razor and gazing back at me to wink at me. He showers, and then we try to spend as much time outside of his room as possible for the rest of the day; we wouldn't have wanted anyone to catch on. He takes his meds with my help at 9PM before going into his room to sit at the desk and scribble in his composition notebook (something they just give to the patients when they're admitted). I sit on the bed filling out a crossword puzzle. He talks to me some more, until his speech starts slurring a bit, and by 10:00, he's asleep. I don't want to wake him, but I also want to say goodbye. Again, I leave work being eager to come back.

 

            Thursday morning, I walk onto the unit and into report. Nina is back, and she is overly excited when the nurse coming off the night shift tells her that James is officially off one-to-one supervision. This information disappoints me; I was happy spending all my time with him. None of the other MCAs seemed to have a problem with me handling his one-to-one watch.

            "Yeah," Tyler, the night nurse explains, "He woke up at 6AM this morning, came to the front desk, and told me that he thinks he's ready to go home. He very calmly explained to me his whole situation, his PTSD, his confusion. My god, the man has made a complete 360 on those meds. I have a feeling Dr. Rothe will soon be discharging him." Suddenly, I can't wait for report to be over. When it is, I go to the back day room and just stand there, hoping that James will come out of his room. He walks past me when it's time for breakfast, an MCA making the rounds to wake the patients and tell them to get in line at the front of the unit.

            "Good morning, James," I say, walking up behind him. He turns around, looking me up and down once as though he has never seen me before. He looks well put together, having showered and brushed his hair back, the luscious locks tied into a neat bun at the back of his head.

            "Morning, miss," he says, offering me his hand to shake, "Do you work here? I don't believe we've met."

Aaaaaaand my heart breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be sad. He'll get to know her all over again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I kind of am basing Bucky off of a patient I knew at my job once. He was a really nice guy, and I am pretty sure now that he must have liked me beyond patient-staff sort of manner, not that I ever would date a patient I work with. Lol. I think this is one of the funniest themes I've ever messed around with. I get a lot of these ideas from my own experiences in mental health. You really get a diverse range of patients and staff.
> 
> Somebody commented before that they thought maybe OFC is Barbara reincarnated. I will give you that. I was on the fence about some things I wanted to incorporate here, maybe some magical realism type of theme.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter is long. It needed to be done for the next phase. I should be studying right now, though. So I have to go punish myself.

             Shaking his hand, I fear that I'm about to start crying. I pause so long at speaking that I'm afraid he will walk away. But eventually his hand pauses in shaking mine, and he laughs. We release each other's hands.

            "This is kind of weird," he begins, "But I can't help feeling like...like maybe I know you," James explains, tilting his head to the side slightly. I find myself praying that he'll remember me, the things he told me over the past few days, the things he did to me in his room...But he just stares into my eyes to the point where it gets uncomfortable for me and I have to look away for a moment. I'm still feeling like I'm gonna cry, to be honest.

            "That's okay. Lots of patients can get fuzzy on their meds. Yes, we've had a few conversations since this past Sunday," I explain calmly, smiling, but not too intensely, "But to answer your question, I _do_ work here. I'm a Mental Care Aide." He smiles, like you would at a stranger who is asking for directions. That just makes me feel worse.

            "I'm sorry, I don't remember, miss..." he holds the badge hanging on a large purple clip that I have attached to my scrub pants, looped in a little yellow, stretchy extension of the pants. I blush furiously; my employee badge photo is _fugly_ , taken about a year ago. It just doesn't do me justice, I think. Makes my head look massive.

            "X," he says, referring to the initial of my last name (they don't put employee surnames on our badges, for obvious reasons. There have been times where patients have grabbed this badge, the same way that James does now, wondering what my name is. And there's no way you want some of these people knowing your last name. Over at HR, when you get hired, they just put your first name, the first letter of your last name, your title, and leave it at that). He releases my badge almost immediately, picking up on my discomfort that he had seen this picture, or perhaps because he basically touched a perfect stranger. He hides his shiny hand behind his back what looks like with some worry that his prosthetic had made me uneasy. I think that it's a combination of all of these things. He literally blushes badly enough that I can see it.

            "Boy, I don't think I ever met someone with an X in their name," he says, smiling shyly, which causes butterflies to fill my stomach, he's just so cute. I start to shove my badge inside the pocket of my scrub pants without unclipping it.

            "Eden, though," James continues, "Your parents were thinkin' right by naming you after somethin' so beautiful. If ya ask me, that photo there doesn't do you justice," he explains. It's my turn to blush. He looks past me a moment, like he's trying to think of something else to say to relieve the awkwardness of this situation. Something tells me he hadn't meant to say all of that aloud. He pulls his hands over the top of his smoothed back hair, and we're both saved from the awkwardness by Emily screaming as she gets into a fight with another patient. I rush towards the issue that I can't yet see, glancing back to find James looking after me in an unfamiliar sort of way.

 

            He eats breakfast quietly, and as I watch him, I just wish that he would wave me over, calling me Barbie, or something. But this never happens. Inside, I'm desperate to kiss him and have him hold me tightly, like he did before just outside his bathroom door. In an epiphany, I start to realize what James must have felt like while stuck deep inside his psychosis, the first time he grabbed my waist at the nursing station and was told that he couldn't touch me. It sucks! And several minutes later, as I'm staring at the safety checks binder, sulking about all of this, his voice greets me.

            "Are you okay, miss? I don't mean to intrude, but you look real sad standing here," James explains. It's only now that I realize he had probably been studying me the way that I had studied him for minutes.

            "Huh?" I love the fact that I have to look up in order to meet his eyes, although he slumps to one side a bit in order to make himself less of a tower.

            "Oh. I-I'm okay," I reassure him, but I'm really not. However, the fact that he has clearly taken an interest in me, enough to show concern, is mildly comforting, "I'm just not…having such a great day. But I'll be fine. I'm here to help all of you—don't worry about me." I smile, but he cocks a brow slightly, and I know that he can tell that everything I'm saying to him is a lie. He places his metal hand on the doorway, the metal of the archway making a small _clink_ sound as he does so.

            "You just…you look like you're going to cry. Maybe you should go home," he says gently, and it feels like I'm talking to one of my coworkers now.

            "Someone I care about is…in the hospital. But they'll be fine. I'm just worried about them," I explain. This isn't really a lie.

            "Like your ma or somethin'?"

            "S-Something like that."

            "Well, whatever it is, I hope it gets better," James adds. I nod. He starts to turn to the left to go through the open doorway to the kitchen, but pauses and faces me again.

            "You seem real sweet, like a good, kind, quiet sort of soul. Thank you for choosing to be here, honey. God bless you," he says, before turning into the kitchen again to get himself another cup of coffee. My heart has climbed to a rate that causes me to check my Fitbit out of sheer curiosity. Just him standing near me makes me feel all kinds of ways. I think horribly of myself for a moment for wishing him to still be psychotic simply so that I might feel special.

            He called me honey. It's not as satisfying as him calling me doll, but I'll definitely take it. By the time James comes out of the kitchen carrying two cups, Raj is talking to me about the fact that Emily is still in restraints upstairs and has requested the "real coffee from the cafeteria." James eyes me as he walks past, continuing to his table, and I'm irritated that my coworker is still talking to me, even though I engage Raj and laugh. Something tells me that one of James's cups was meant for me.

 

            I find myself still wondering how the fuck James had known that I eat the unwanted ends of a loaf of bread as toast, that I write any word with a capital L at the beginning of it using mellifluous cursive, and other random things he told me which he could not possibly have known without _actually knowing me_. I start wondering if maybe I _am_ Barbara, from a past life, and I shiver the way they say you do if somebody walks over your grave in the future. But as James is busy talking to Henry in the day room after breakfast and telling him he can't keep proposing to me or any of the other female MCAs, I realize that Barbara García must be the last thing on his healthy mind.

            Since breakfast, I have been keeping my distance, observing James. He is clearly in his right mind now. When Nina asks him at the desk what the date is, he laughs, telling her with certainty that the year is 2017. He takes his pills without any need for convincing from me. Nina cackles.

            "Chi! Dis my soljah is getting out of here pretty soon," she explains. He smiles widely, reaching over the desk to rub her shoulder cordially.

            "I'm back for more drugs at 5 o'clock, right, auntie Nina?" he asks.

            "Lord! He even calls me by dee right title now! Do you know oddah Nigerians?"

            "One of my best friends is Wakandan," James explains, going on to tell the nurse about his visit there to get surgery for his arm. I walk away from the desk to go stare like one of the depressed patients out of the window in the empty sensory room. I recognize the fuzzy sound of the radio being tuned from the back room, and rock music meets my ears.

            "Oh—sorry," James says, backing out of the doorway when I turn around.

            "I'll come back."

            "No—wait," I call, and he pauses, "This room is for patients. Go ahead. I was just about to do my next round," I explain.

            "Thank you, sweetheart. I didn't mean to kick ya out," James smiles as I start out of the sensory room. Even when he was psychotic, he seemed to like this room, but he always had a preference for the Oldies station. As I walk away, I can hear him singing along to Check My Brain by Alice in Chains—a fitting type of song for this type of setting. I find him talking on the phone on my next round of checks.

            "Yeah, Steve, I'm doing much better," he explains, sounding like he's absolutely normal. I hope that he won't be leaving for at least another week, honestly. I won't enjoy coming to work so much without him here. I stand at the nursing station, finishing my checks with every patient that I can see out in the milieu, also eavesdropping on James's conversation. Though I cannot hear what Steve is saying, I can tell that it's cheering James up further, because he starts smiling. When I look out of my peripheral vision, I swear for a moment that he's checking me out. I blush intensely, knowing that he's staring now.

            "I did what?" He asks Steve, lowering his voice a bit. I start wondering whether Steve is telling him about the day he, Natasha, and Sam came to visit him, where he accused Steve of being a Hydra agent, telling him he'd knock his teeth out before letting the Captain corrupt me, whatever that meant to him in his delusion. And then James laughs in this wholehearted way that warms me from the core and I can't help smiling. I can't deny that I like seeing him happy. He's a lot more outgoing and sweeter to everyone. When he was crazy, he couldn't seem to tolerate anyone more than me (and Nina to some extent, and I now realize that maybe it's because she reminded him of his Wakandan friend, and he probably thought they had nothing to do with the whole Hydra conspiracy running through his head).

            He ends his phone call with Steve by reminding him to bring him some more shirts because he only has two and is tired of washing clothes daily. He starts heading towards his room. All I want to do is follow him and go close the door and try to make out with him, but I am no longer sure whether he even sees me the way he did when he was psychotic. I don't know what to do with myself, knowing I'll be here until 11:30PM without him telling me riveting war stories or the things he loves about "me," Barbie. I start to feel depressed again. I know I should really stop. It's not like I could have _really_ carried out his delusion and married him, right? I start thinking that I shouldn't have let him fuck me, because if I wasn't attached before, I am now.

            On my last round of checks before handing the book off to the next MCA, I pass by James's room. The door is half open and I find him sitting at the desk in there, reading through what looks like a composition notebook. I just stand quietly in the doorway, not wanting to disturb him. He doesn't appear to notice me there as I mark him off as "reading" on his check sheet. I have read that journal before, some of the things he wrote while he was psychotic. I wonder whether he's reading those things that he wrote now and realizing that he thought I was someone very special to him.

            He doesn't come out of that room again until lunch time, when Steve drops by, Raj telling him that he has a visitor. James decides not to go down to the cafeteria, so two of my coworkers lining up the patients to bring them down get the memo to bring something up for him. I'm in the day room wiping crumbs and coffee stains off the tables when Steve waves at me from the hall, a smile on his face. I wave back at him, awestruck that fricken Captain America remembers _me_. He hands the duffle bag he's carrying to Raj, who has to look through it before giving any of the items to James (this is standard procedure around here: no laces, no belts, no homemade food. Patients could hurt themselves with/hide drugs inside _anything_ , not that I really believe Steve is trying to sneak James a joint or anything like that). I can tell that Raj is explaining the rule to Steve, who nods knowingly, James walking up to Steve and slapping his shoulder amicably.

            James catches sight of me through the large plexiglass windows as I continue picking up patient messes from the tables, and he looks at me in a way that is somewhat shy before turning away and continuing to the interview room to meet with Steve. Raj stands behind the nursing station to check the shirts and unopened Fruit of the Loom boxers Steve has brought in for James, switching the items over to a paper bag that he will bring to the patient. I sit down in the dayroom after taking off my gloves and thumb through my phone. I see Janice's status on Facebook, begging for someone to take her day shift tomorrow morning.

            I go to the website where MCAs check their schedules and pick up the shift, knowing that it will be painful to get up early after two doubles in a row. But I'm covering for Janice last minute because she is a friend, and I don't know exactly when James will be leaving so I want to get the most of him that I can. The extra money doesn't hurt, either. I watch boring day time shows while James has his visit, Raj making a round to check the patient's rooms. Emily has since been let out of restraints and is now pacing the hall. The patients come back from lunch before I leave the day room. Emily approaches me.

            "Hey, can I get my phone?" she asks, "I need to get the number for one of my councilors at a clinic," she explains.

            "I'll see what I can do." I tell Raj that I'm heading down to valuables for a minute. You always tell someone when you're leaving the unit. I have to pass by the interview room on my way out, and I glance sideways at James and Steve in the room, laughing about something. When I come back to the unit with the patient's personal phone, I bring it over to the desk so that she can get the numbers she's looking for. James's laugh meets my ears when he and Steve finally step out of the interview room. Emily has her cell phone to her ear by the time I turn back to her.

            "Wait, you can't make calls in here from a cell phone," I say regretfully. There are two landlines on the unit that patients can use, but calling from their cell phones is just not allowed. Emily takes a step back from me, continuing to listen as the phone rings.

            "You cannot use cell phone on the unit," Nina explains, coming out of the back room to find Emily talking angrily to somebody. I can already sense an explosion coming and I attempt to take the phone from Emily. She steps away from me again and Nina starts from behind the desk. I am asking Emily respectfully to get off the phone, and she just flips me off. I sigh and try to take the phone from her again. This time, she pushes me hard, causing me to fall on the floor.

            "Excuse me!" Nina says, trying to take the phone from the patient. By now, Raj is making his way out of the back day room and starting towards where Emily is yelling at us. I feel myself being lifted straight up off the floor. I recognize James's metal hand under my arm. Emily had pushed me into a wall, which knocked the wind out of me for a minute. I don't know how long I was sitting there dazed.

            "You okay?" James asks me, looking down into my eyes. When Nina screams, I don't get a chance to answer. James is pulling the patient off the nurse before I know it, Steve right behind him, ready to pitch in.

            "Hey—calm down," James says, blocking Emily from trying to lunge at Nina.

            "My god," Nina says, shaking her head and rubbing her throat; Emily had managed to start choking her.

            "Call code green. Call code," Nina says to me. Raj is trying to help James and Steve direct Emily into the quiet room, where I know she'll be restrained again.

            "…Never mind," Nina says, realizing that the guys have it under control now. I sigh, picking up the phone that Emily had dropped on the floor, ready to quit my job. One other female MCA is in the room with the other nurse on duty, and I already know what's happening in the quiet room. Steve looks a bit disturbed as he and James walk away from the situation, realizing that the staff now have it under control.

            "Are you alright?" Steve asks me, "I saw her, she pushed you pretty hard," he explains. I register soreness at my back and wince before nodding.

            "Why'd she do that?" James asks me, as I place the patient's phone back inside the manila envelope with her name on it.

            "She tried to make a call from her cell phone, which everyone knows you can’t do in here. That's why we've got the other phones," I explain.

            "You sure you're okay?" James asks, and I feel his metal hand at the small of my back a moment.

            "She tried to goddamn choke Nina," he explains, not convinced that either of us ladies is fine.

            "It's nothing, my soljah. You saved dee day," Nina laughs, causing James to smile. "Believe me; some people have had it _worse_ ," Nina explains, phoning the doctor who will have to come in and see Emily once she's restrained again. Nina isn't lying; I've been present when an aggressive patient punched a nurse before, and others have been brutally attacked to the point of needing a hospital.

            "Hear that, Buck?" Steve asks, "You're a local hero."

I hear James laughing as I start towards the entrance. I just make it to the door and use my badge to buzz it open when Steve catches up to me, telling me that he needs to leave now. I turn back to him smiling, which I had done as soon as I turned away; I can't help but be thankful to Emily for knocking me so that James felt the need to come to my rescue. I can still feel his strong arms lifting me up off the floor. I turn my key in the slot at the elevator and push the down button. I could just take the stairs down to the nursing office where valuables are kept, but it's fricken _Captain America_ standing there alone waiting for an elevator. I pretend there are no stairs to take and just wait there with him.

            "He's doing a lot better, Eden," Steve says to me, grinning down at me. My heart throbs.

            "He's going to see the doc today and will probably be cleared to leave as soon as tomorrow. I hope it's soon. We miss him at home," Steve adds.

            "I'm glad to hear it."

            "And I want to thank you for taking such good care of him. I was told he'd only start taking his meds with your help." I blush, wondering whether the Captain had called the unit and spoke to Nina about James. Sometimes, the family members of patients would call and ask the nurses how their loved one was doing, if that patient didn't feel like talking to the concerned caller. I wave my hand nonchalantly.

            "It's nothing. Just doing my job, Cap—I mean Steve. Can I call you Steve?" I ask nervously. He laughs, to my relief.

            "Either works for me. But it's certainly _not_ nothing, Eden. I just got a taste of what you go through every day in here. I can only hope you're fairly compensated, taking risks with people who are that unstable," he says genuinely. _Not nearly enough_ , I think while swallowing hard. The elevator opens and we step inside. Dude, man, Captain America. I just gawk stupidly as I stare up at Steve. He's so tall, he practically had to duck to get into the elevator.

            "Anyway, let me formally apologize for Bucky if he acted weird around you," Steve adds, grinning in a very amused sort of way as he turns to face me in the elevator. I shake my head in a way to let him know I didn't mind.

            "Occupational hazard. I'm used to it."

            Steve  laughs. And then he sighs, looking off somewhere, the same look I've seen in James's eyes before, as if he's seeing into his past, "He really loved that girl, which was surprising to me 'cause he always seemed to have a new girlfriend every week. Barbara is the _only_ one I can remember lasting more than a month. Yeah…he loved that girl. Was gonna marry her as soon as he got back from the war. Only, he never made it back, as I'm sure you know," Steve explains, shrugging.

            "I didn't know that."

            "Random facts, I guess? I don't mean to sound depressing. I really hope Bucky didn't bother you too much. I heard he followed you around the unit a lot," Steve explains.

            "He just talked to me _a lot_ ," I half lie, totally leaving out the gory details.

            "Did he? Hahaha. Y'know, now that I'm listening to you, your voice _is_ an awful lot like Barbara's was," Steve explains, looking at me as though he's trying to pick out other details that remind him of this woman I've never met that James was so madly in love with.

             "Really? That's strange…He told me a lot about you, actually."

            "Oh, yeah?" Steve asks.

            "Yeah, some pretty embarrassing stuff," I say, feeling bold. Even though this is true, I merely meant it as a joke, but Steve's cheeks flush red and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt for a moment before making eye contact with me again.

            "I'm sure a lot of it wasn't true," he says. We finally make it to the first floor, and I continue alongside Steve, as my destination is near his exit.

            "Even the story about the ride he made you go on and you threw up?"

            " _That_ one's true," Steve says, laughing. He's still laughing by the time we make it to the end of the long hallway, verifying and denying as many stories as I can muster from my detailed discussions with James while he was psychotic. It comes as a surprise to me to find that about 80% of the stories are actually true. I buzz Steve out of the facility. He pauses in the entryway to the receptionist, shaking my hand.

            "Thank you, for all you've done. Buck and I both appreciate it. Please be careful in here, ma'am. This job can be kinda dangerous."

            "Well, that's why they train us, Steve."

He nods at me again before walking away. I knock on the door of the nursing office just nearby and return Emily's phone, making a note to remind other staff that she just shouldn't be allowed to obtain anything from valuables until she's discharged. When I make it back onto the unit, Emily is still screaming in the sensory room, telling the nurse administering an IM of haldol that she'll kill us all. Meanwhile, I spot James, doing plyometric pushups off of the nursing station desk while standing up. He seems not to want to move too far from where Emily is screaming, just in case she manages to break out of restraints and attack his favourite nurse again. He spots me coming back, looking at me with concern as I disappear to the back room to wash my hands and feel the back of my head just to make sure it's not bleeding or something.

            He's still standing there when I come out and sit at one of the computers the nurses aren't using to check my work email.

            "You poor thing," he says, leaning against the desk eying me with those large oceans on his handsome face, "You sure you're alright, doll?" I quell a gigantic smile.


	10. Chapter 10

             James leans further over the desk, lowering his voice, at which point, I focus up on him.

            "I feel like I should apologize to you. I think that maybe I did or said something to you that was really inappropriate while I was still psychotic," he says, holding his flesh hand to his chest in a sincere sort of way. If it was possible, I'm sure my pants would have burst into literal flames, considering how he makes me feel when he's near, but I suffer no such blaze. I just look up at him with a calm and collected composure.

            "What makes you say that?" I ask, although I know _exactly_ what he's referring to.

            "I mean…well…my friend Steve told me I thought that you were my fiancée the last time he came to visit. I'm real sorry if I bothered you, miss X. I didn't know what I was doing or saying," James explains.

            "I assure you, you did nothing to disturb me. Don't even worry about it," I explain, responding to a mandatory email from the senior MCA, whose name is, coincidentally, also James. The email regards signing up for an appointment to go over to HR and learn how to use the new Velcro restraints that the hospital has switched to. When I look up at James again, he's blushing.

            "I just think that I musta said some weird stuff to you if I thought you were my…" he trails off, his eyes gravitating towards the quiet room where Emily has begun to scream anew.

            "'S'cuse me, miss X," he says, stepping towards the quiet room door, where Margaux, the other female MCA on for the day shift, is observing the restrained patient.

            "Hey, toots. Longer you keep attacking staff and screaming, longer they'll keep you here," James explains, poking his head through the door.

            "Shut the fuck up!" Emily shouts at him.

            "Emily, we don't need to use that kind of language, alright?" Margaux explains calmly.

            "Let me out of these restraints—I'll teach you all about language," Emily growls, and I find myself unable to wait for the sedative to kick in. James sighs, leaning against the desk and staring into the quiet room at the restrained patient.

            "Quit assaulting staff; they're just doing their jobs. And you didn't have to push miss Eden. She was just following the rules," he explains to the patient, "Everybody knows you can't use cell phones in here. She was just doing her job."

            "Shut the fuck up, muscles!" Emily shouts.

Emily's comment causes James, Margaux, and I to all laugh. He makes his way back to the desk, apparently having forgotten what he was previously discussing with me.

            "Hey, you think Dr. Rothe's gonna be in today? I don’t think I've seen him since I got here. I just want him to okay me to go home," James explains, focusing on me again. Honestly, my heart had fluttered uncontrollably to hear him talk about me with such kind words.

            "The doctors are usually in during the day. But it's going on two o'clock. If he hasn't seen you by now, I'm sorry to say that you might have to wait until tomorrow morning," I explain. James sighs, glancing down the hall for a couple of seconds, tapping his fingers on the desk. His metal fingers make a noise that causes me to stare at them, and suddenly he catches my stare and stops, looking a bit flustered.

            "I'm sorry, doll," he says, "You're just tryna get work done and I'm up here buggin' the hell outta you," he says, walking away suddenly. I wasn't doing anything but checking my emails, to be honest. I feel disappointed when he disappears. He's like a giant teddy bear; he was even very nice to Emily, who doesn't deserve that sort of treatment, to be quite honest. About a half hour passes and I find myself sitting in the front day room again, but James isn't out on the floor. I fight the urge to go and find him for one more minute before getting up. Margaux is now sitting just outside of the quiet room door, filling out a crossword puzzle and sporadically looking in on Emily, who has given into the sedative and is sleeping.

            I pause in the back day room to see what the patients are watching on TV. The Shining piques me momentarily. I pretend that I'm just looking for a patient and pause outside of Henry's room momentarily. I hear a sort of grunting sound as I venture closer to James's room. The door is about two thirds of the way open, and as I peer inside, I catch a glimpse of him doing pushups atop a laid out towel on the tiled floor. I stare quietly for a moment at the muscles rippling in his upper back; he had taken his shirt off. Part of me is curious as to how much that prosthetic helps him do the work, but in the daylight that passes through the window, I can see sweat glistening across his milky skin. He pauses, pulling the prosthetic behind his back and continuing with a one-armed pushup on his flesh arm.

            I swear, watching this activity alone could bring me to climax. It's not just my sense of sight being pleased, as his noises lick my eardrums delicately. The TV just barely obscures the grunts escaping James's mouth as he lifts and lowers his weight repeatedly on the right side. I wonder if I should probably close the door; patients are technically supposed to be fully clothed when they're out on the unit (although he's basically inside his room), but no one else appears to have noticed him being shirtless in there, or grunting…I just listen and watch. I am eventually leaning in the doorway, and James still hasn't noticed me. It isn’t until I hear my name that I turn around and step away from the door.

            "I'm about to go on break. Can you please take over watching Emily? Don't worry, she's sleeping now," Margaux reassures me, handing me Emily's safety check and restraint check sheets on a clipboard. I smile and nod, although I'm irritated to be pulled away from watching James work out. I saunter over to the chair Margaux had been sitting in moments prior and plop down. In the next ten minutes, I will have to stand up and enter the room to make sure that I can slip two fingers between the restraints around Emily's arms and wrists, count her respirations, and check her pulse, standard restraint protocol. I keep replaying James's sweaty back in my head, fantasizing. I get curious and wonder whether it's even necessary for him to work out like that, owing to the serum that makes him so much like Steve. I decide that it doesn't matter, because I will gladly watch James do a million pushups in a row.

            When it has been roughly fifty minutes and I'm still on restraint duty, James stops by the nursing station. He glances at me briefly as he passes by before grinning and leaning on the desk to engage Nina. I could see that he had showered and changed into one of the items Steve had brought in for him, a form-fitting navy blue t-shirt that allows me to see every gotdang bulge in his perfect chest and stomach, and a pair of black basketball shorts. He's just so distracting to me now, his hair free and dripping onto his shoulders.

            "You think you can page the doc for me, auntie?" he asks. Nina laughs.

            "Oh, my soljah. Why? Whas wrong? You got headache?" James laughs.

            "Nah, I just wanna see about getting outta here, now that I'm better and on my meds."     

            "I'm sorry, but Dr. Rothe is _all_ tied up wit dee oddah patient's restraint paypah work right now. It's going to be a while before he can see you—if at all today." (This is part of the reason that Saint Greenley Psychiatric is so gung-ho about trying to promote a restraint-free environment. None of the medical staff enjoy doing all of the paperwork required for such events.)

            "Damn," James sighs, "Well, thanks anyway. It's just…it's _so_ _boring_ in here, and now that I'm not so crazy, I notice it," he adds. Nina laughs.

            "Welcome to my world, soljah. Whattabout ask MCA to take a group outside? Dee weather is nice today-o. I sat out there and ate my lunch," Nina suggests, typing away behind the desk. I have stood up by now to stretch (no, but really to gawk at James out of my peripheral vision). He casts a gaze my way suddenly. Margaux returns to relieve me of restraint watch at just that moment.

            "I can take a group out," I explain.

            "Really?" James asks, hopefully, smiling. His glimmering teeth cause me to smile back.

            "Sure. Let me just find out whether anyone else would like to go down."

I pass through the unit, asking patients if they would like to go outside, many of them still napping or hooked on watching the movie on the TV. It's almost a full minute before I realize that James is following me this entire time. He has an odd way of being able to get within arm's reach without me noticing. Emily's neighbor joins the small group that begins to form, and I end up with six patients eager to get some fresh air. All are women except for James, a group of patients who tend to congregate and talk all the time. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said these patients only wanted to join us for the sake of being able to stare at James's muscles; they smile and eye him up and down as we exit the unit. I fight an eye roll, but James appears to be totally oblivious to their suggestive glances, the way they look at him before wagging eyebrows at each other.

            We take the stairs down, James holding the door open for us all after I unlock it, bringing up the rear, being the most politest thing I've ever seen. Something about him being behind me gives me chills, but pleasant chills. It gets worse when he starts to whistle, and the tune is familiar. I identify it as the one he was humming in the day room where I sat beside him while he was eating the other day. I pause at the base of the stairs where there is another door to go through. The side of his mouth curls up.

            "You know that song?" he asks me. I shake my head for no, making my way to the last locked door that will let us out into the fresh air. He brushes past me ever so slightly to hold the door open from the outside, and as he does so, I try subtly to inhale as deeply as possible, his scent flooding my nostrils and brain like some kind of drug you'd snort. I allow the five other female patients to exit the building, and they make their way towards a soccer ball in the middle of the fenced in courtyard.

            "That's right, I forgot. I'm old enough to be your…I mean, you're _way_ too young for that one," James adds, more to himself than to me, and in the sunlight where he's squinting, I can see him blush for a moment. I thank him, stepping out into the gentle breeze.

            "It's Billie Holiday," he says.

            "Is it? What are the lyrics?" I ask, desperate to make him say them. I know this one old song, and it is a love song. As he pauses in continuing to whistle it, I think with delight that if I had written the song, it would have been meant precisely for him. I sing it inside my head as his eyes widen at me momentarily, _Your eyes of blue. Your kisses, too. I never knew what they could do_. He laughs, dare I say, nervously, turning away from me for a moment, lifting his face to the sun and closing his eyes.

            "Awww—you don't wanna know—it's not cool and hip like the stuff your generation's into," he explains. We both happen to be starting towards the green picnic tables, and as I make it ahead of him, he continues to whistle I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me, and something makes me wonder whether _I_ had inspired him to sing it in the first place, like I obviously had when he thought that I was Barbie. I don't press James any further on the matter, knowing that he's most likely afraid to tell me. If he really thinks that his psychosis had creeped me out, I know there's no way he'll tell me certain things anymore. He takes a deep breath, sitting on the table's bench after I sit on the table top. No one really gives a shit; I've seen schizophrenic patients walk across it with muddy shoes before.

            The sun causes me to squint continuously, but I can see James looking at me repeatedly from the corners of his eyes. He rubs his metal shoulder momentarily, pretending to watch the five female patients kicking a soccer ball around, and I find myself wishing badly that I could just sit in his lap. But now he's so quiet, shy almost, and I, being no particular social butterfly, do not know what the hell to say to him. My heart just palpitates, and I realize that I'm actually in love. I see his lips finally begin to part when James catches the soccer ball that one of the female patients had intentionally kicked his way. He catches it just before it hits him in the face, and laughing, starts towards the group where one of the women apologizes to him profusely. I watch him play with them, the group devising their own sort of soccer game with no real rules. Every fifteen minutes, I mark each one of them as off unit on the six check sheets I had brought with me.

 

            It's 4:30 when we finally walk back inside to the unit. James disappears without saying anything to me, but he had stayed long enough to hold each door open for myself and the other women who had gone outside. I feel as though he was trying to hurry away from me, and my heart crumbles a little bit more. He kept looking at me in a way that made me wonder what the hell he was thinking. He stays in his room until dinner time, and myself and Raj end up staying on the unit during dinner to watch Emily, who has now been set free and moved to her room to continue sleeping off the drugs. James spares me a glance where I stand at the desk when the patients return from the cafeteria, and by the time I'm on last checks at 11:00PM, I find him repeatedly in his room, thumbing through that composition notebook.

            Every time that I pass by his room, he's sitting at the desk, his back to me, reading the damned thing. I want to know what he's doing, as he doesn't appear to be writing, just reading what he wrote before. But as I make my last round, I find him still sitting at the desk, writing this time. I don't bother to say good night to him before leaving. I wake up to find that I have been cancelled for the shift I was going to cover the next morning, and instead of trying to shower at 6:15AM, I throw my phone back on the nightstand and try to go back to sleep. I end up staying awake for two hours, lying there and wondering whether James will still be on South 4 when I next work there. It's Wednesday of the following week when I am on South 4 again. I listen intently to the report given by Eve in the team room, only to realize that James is no longer a patient. I won't lie, I feel depressed as ever as I go through that shift.

 

            Two weeks pass, and almost every moment, I find myself thinking of James Buchanan Barnes. I only wish I had gotten to say goodbye to him. That part really hurts. I'm sure that I will never see him again, and as I leave work on a Friday at 3:45PM (I had gotten held up doing the last set of checks), I drop my backpack atop the hood of my car, fishing for my stupid keys. I start swearing out loud, just irritated at _everything_. Why? I finally find the sweetest, _sexiest_ , most amazing guy ever, and I can't have him. Didn't even get to say goodbye, and now he's gone forever, and I'll never know his touch again. I'm thinking all of this and tears start to flood my eyes. I eventually straight up push my backpack off the hood of my car and kick it.

            "Everything alright, Eden?" James's voice meets my ears and I gasp loud enough that I even cause the man to jump ever so slightly. I turn around to find him standing there, between my car and some other employee's, under the shade of a tree in the parking lot. I clutch my hands to my chest, in disbelief.

            "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to startle you," he says, looking apologetic. I scan the parking lot before focusing on James again. He extends a white envelope to me with his shiny metal hand, apologizing again for sneaking up on me. I feel my face flare up at the thought that he heard me swearing and losing my shit while I thought that I was alone.

            "Are you okay?" he asks. I am staring at him, ignoring the envelope. Flustered, I nod, picking my backpack up and some of its contents which had spilled, reaching with lightning speed for the tampon that James hopefully didn't see. He's at my level suddenly, picking up my keys from a little ways under my car. We start to stand in unison, slowly, eying each other every which way, as if we have rehearsed this move before. For the first moment since he has not been psychotic, I realize that he's just as attracted to _me_ as I am to _him_. The look in his eyes says it all. That familiar palpitating begins again. He just smiles, holding the keys in front of me for a moment.

            "Th-thanks," I stutter and he drops them into my waiting palm, "I just couldn't find them," I add, trying to explain away the rage that James had found me in.

            "Would have pissed me off, too," James says. I look down shyly, fighting a smile. He pushes his flesh hand through his hair while simultaneously handing me an envelope with his prosthetic. I take it absently without even reading it. I'm still trying to adjust to seeing James outside of the hospital.

            "Wait…what the hell are you doing _here_?" I ask, pointing to our current location, hoping that I don't sound rude. This is not the tone I had meant to take with him. I just assume that James must have been readmitted and that staff are inside now frantically searching for their missing patient. James laughs.

            "I came back to volunteer," he explains, "I was happy with the treatment that I got, and I realized there's a lot of veterans here," he explains, shrugging with one shoulder. This is one of the qualities that I admire about him most. He always wants to help. I hadn't forgotten the fact that he's been a soldier in some way for so long, it's almost all he knows. His eyes keep looking me up and down, _like he wants to fuck me_. And I _know_ that's what this gaze means because I saw it before that one time that he did.

            "I was actually just over at the HR building, you know, getting the little orientation you have to go through before you can be around the patients. Anyway, I went over to South 4 to visit Nina, too," James explains. It isn't just the July heat making me sweat bullets where I stand, "I'm having a sort of…party, I guess you could say—to celebrate the fact that I'm better. And I was sorta looking for you." _He was looking for me?!?_ Had I been a bomb, I would've detonated on the spot. I finally pay attention to the envelope in my hands. All it's got on the front of it is my name in James's handwriting. He didn't bother to lick the envelope closed either, and I pull out what turns out to be a thank you card. I smile, unable to hold back.

            "I just had to say thank you for helping to take care of me while I was in here. I know I musta given some of the staff a hard time. Uhm…and I know it's probably kinda unorthodox of me to invite you to my party, but I'm hoping you'll show," James explains. I read an address and a date, immediately committing the information to memory.

            "I mean, if you decide to come, no one here has to know," he adds, shrugging again, "Just don't tell your coworkers I invited you," he explains, laughing briefly, "'Cause I didn't even invite Nina, and she was my favourite nurse here."

I laugh a little bit, tucking the florous card back inside its envelope.

            "I don't know what to say, James," I explain honestly, "I'm just really glad you're okay. I'm glad I could be of service. It's what I do here."

                "Bless you, doll," he says, and in this totally uninhibited moment, he reaches out for my cheek with his metal hand. It's pleasantly cool against my flesh, and I feel one of the fingers tuck some hair behind my ear. James just looks at me for a handful of seconds which feel more like whole minutes. I can tell now. I can tell that he's holding back from kissing me, or doing something that both of us already know would be wrong, considering the circumstances. Without another word, with just a bite of his bottom lip as if he's unwilling to let himself say something further, he walks away from me. I stand there dumbly and watch him walk to the corner of the parking lot to mount a motorcycle. I get into my car and stare from the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the lot, not even wearing a helmet. All I know is that if I go to this party, something had better happen between us.


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

      The party is scheduled for next Friday, and the entire time that I drive home, I keep reading the card James gave me at every red light, sometimes cars honking at me impatiently. He'd written a very heartfelt note inside the card. I start to memorize it in my head as I drive:

 

_Eden,_

_I know you don't know me very well, and I definitely don't know you very well, but I was told that you're the reason I started taking my meds. I've been on and off of some different psych meds for the past year or so due to PTSD and depression, but this was my first head injury that managed to trigger such a break that I ended up requiring hospitalization. I won't scare you by going into detail about my past or the things that happened to me, the reasons why I ultimately ended up at Saint Greenley's, but I will say that I have run the gamut of mental health issues, and I hope I never have another break as bad as I did in this past month ever again. It may sound strange, I am grateful that I_ did _, though, if I'm being honest. My illness caused our paths to cross, and I made some new friends on the inside, some of them veterans, which made me realize what I really wanna do with my time. I don't really have a job, either, so I'm thankful to have discovered Saint Greenley, and I know I can help a lot of veterans who might be suffering the way I was. Words can’t convey how grateful to you I am for doing whatever it is you had to do to get me to trust the doctors and nurses, who were only trying to help me when I couldn't see that I needed help. I really hope that you keep doing what you do, 'cause as far as I'm concerned, you're some sorta angel that God sent down to me while I was drowning in the dark. I hope I'll see you at my party next week, but I won't be offended if this makes you too uncomfortable and you choose not to come. If I don't see you again, I still hope I'll be seeing you around, somehow._

_Gratefully,_

_Bucky_

_P.S. if you wanna call and RSVP, please call_ _—_ BEEEEEEP!

And I actually flip off the car behind me that honks, interrupting me from staring at James's neat handwriting. By the time I make it home, I'm crying in my car. I'm crying not just because I have a huge crush on this man, who I'm going to have the chance to see again, but because I was able to help him. Enough that he took the time to sit down and contemplate his words carefully. I think about the time when we were sitting outside in the courtyard at the hospital, and James kept stealing glances at me, but neither of us spoke. I wonder whether he thought all of this about me back then. Maybe he had avoided me in the end because he thought he'd made me uncomfortable. Somehow, even when I first met him and he was delusional out of his mind and grabbed me by the waist (something I woulda slapped any other man for), I wasn't _exactly_ afraid of him. I smile at the card; it's floral, somewhat shiny, elegant, and precisely my style. It's odd, as if James knew I'd really like it. I am already thinking about where on my bedroom wall I will hang it.

            I'm gung-ho settled about attending this party. I'm still sitting in my car when I pull my cell phone out of the pocket of my scrub top, but I pause in dialing James's number. I'm scared…or not so much scared, I just don't want to seem _desperate_. I _just_ saw the guy no more than forty minutes ago. I grin to myself. I'm not interested in appearing easy in any capacity. I decide I'll wait a day or two before responding, just to let him contemplate me. I'm sure now that he thinks about me the way I've been thinking about him since we last interacted in the hospital. I picture him reading his journal, and wonder whether he had written down everything we did while he was delusional. Does he know all of the things that happened between us? When he got better, I remember him saying that he thought he should apologize to me if he did or said anything that was inappropriate while he was sick…and maybe he _does know_.

            Even though no one can see me where I'm sitting in my car, I blush ferociously. I don't know if I want to tell him what happened in full, if ever he is to ask me about it. I don't want him to think I'm some kind of monster, taking advantage of a sick man for her own pleasures. Truth be told, _I_ didn't take advantage of him; he kind of…ambushed me, and I allowed it to happen. I could have firmly said no at any time. Part of me regrets it for the sake of wanting to get to know the _real_ James Barnes, a person who appears to be trying to reach out to me now.

            And then I wonder wildly whether he actually likes _me_. Do I still remind him of Barbara García? I don't even know what she looked like. I don't even know her personality, but Steve had told me that I sound like her. Is that why James is interested in me? Does he actually find _me_ appealing? My thoughts just drive me crazy for long enough that I decide to march into the house and take a bubble bath with a big glass of pink moscato.

 

            I can only wait as far as the very next day before calling to RSVP. It is a Saturday morning, 9AM on the dot. I normally sleep in till noon every Saturday, but I wake up, my heart palpitating like it does every time James is near me. It's funny because he's nowhere near me where I'm sitting on my bed in underwear and a tank top. I hang up the phone the first time I call after it rings twice. I have to get up and shake my hands, pace back and forth, clear my throat—I don't want to sound stupid. And then I catch a glimpse of the card he wrote me and I smile, sitting down on my bed again. I take a swig of water from the bottle I had brought up with me before going to sleep, and dial the number again. As it rings for the fourth time, I start to feel a little bit hopeless, but then James's voice fills my ear, cradling my head in such a pleasant sensation that it's almost as if I'm resting in his arms.

            "Hello?" James says, and I hear him panting. He's clearly out of breath.

            "…James?"

            "Eden," he says excitedly, and I can just hear the smile on his face, "Hang on, doll—I was just running some laps," he explains quickly, "Gimme a sec."

            "Sure," I say, sitting up straight. I would have gladly listened to him breathing till the end of days. In about fifteen to twenty seconds, he speaks again.

            "How are you?" he asks me. My heart. Oh my heart.

            "G-good. I was calling to RSVP for your party next week."

            "Oh—good. So you're gonna come?" he asks. _Make me, daddy!_ I shake my head, ridding it of the dirty thought, laughing lightly.

            "I mean…I thought that's what RSVPing _was_ ," I explain. James chuckles shyly.

            "Yeah, of _course_. It's too early for me. I'm sorry, doll." I plop to my side, gushing.

            "So," he breathes, still sounding slightly out of breath, "I'm really happy you decided to go. I think you're gonna have a lot of fun."

            "I hope so. Is it at your house?"

            "…Mmmm, I guess you could call it that," James says mysteriously. I cock a brow.

            "What do you mean?" I ask. He laughs, adding further mystery that starts to get me daydreaming.

            "Nothin'. It's just, you'll see when you get here. Lemme give you the address."

            "Okay. Hang on," I add. I step up to my dresser and open my journal, a pen conveniently tucked inside the pages.

            "Go ahead."

James proceeds to give me an address for some place in upstate New York. I don't get out there very often, but he only gives me the address and a few directions, as it's apparently somewhat obscure when trying to navigate to this "house" of his.

            "And if you have any trouble finding it on the day of the party, just call me at this number and I'll help you out," he adds.

            "Okay."

            "Okay."

There's silence, neither of us hanging up. And then James laughs, so I laugh.

            "Eden," he says.

            "Yes, James."

            "…I'm really glad you called," he admits, sounding as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, "I was sorta worried that you weren't going to come…I just…want you to know it really means a lot to me, all your help."

            "Oh, it's what I do, James. It's my job to help people."

He sighs and I can picture him smiling still, perhaps nervously pulling the sweaty collar of his shirt.

            "It ain't just that, doll," he adds, "There's somethin' real special about you. I know it. I can't wait to see you. And I'm sure you're gonna love my friends. We're gonna have a good time, doll. We always throw the best parties, if ya ask me."

            "Really?"

            "Really," he says with certainty.

            "Well, I'll take your word for it."

            "You better."

I laugh.

            "I'm…I'm glad you called. I'll see you on Friday, Edie."

            "I'll see you."

 I listen to him breathe for a handful of seconds before being the first to hang up, realizing as I save his number in my phone, that he had called me something people rarely ever call me. It's usually people that I know very well who call me Edie, like my coworker Lewis, a friend I've had since Catholic school in seventh grade, my mother, my grandfather…did James notice? He talks to me like he knows me so well when he doesn't. But it doesn't bother me.

 

            I am all nerves the day of the party. I have pulled almost everything I own out of my closet in search of the perfect outfit. I thought about calling James again to ask him whether the party is casual or something fancier, but I finally settle on a black A-line skirt I had bought around Christmas time last year, and a short-sleeved blue blouse that reminds me of James's eyes. I decide that although heels would look so cute with the outfit, I'm not trying to embarrass myself by tripping in front of James or anyone else that he knows. I don't want to make a fool out of myself. I drive to the address that James gave me, eager to arrive, and by the time that I do, there are plenty of cars parked outside of a large, almost air base looking kind of area. I think about calling James, assuming that I made some kind of wrong turn, but the vibrant sounds of a party cause me to stop guessing where I am.

            The sun is just setting now, and everything looks golden and beautiful, the sky shades of purple, pink, and orange as I lock my car and head towards the building. I find myself totally unsure of which entrance I'm supposed to go through, but it's less than a minute before someone, or rather _something_ , comes towards me from what seems like out of thin air. I gasp and nearly drop my purse as this red figure pauses in front of me.

            "Are you Miss X?" he asks, his voice a clear, almost computer-like bell in my ears.

            "Y-yes," I respond, realizing that this…person (?) is no threat to me.

            "Right this way, Eden. Mr. Barnes has been anticipating your arrival…all day, really. He wanted to be informed of your presence as soon as you arrived." As I follow the guy through a set of automatic doors, I realize that he must have been looking out for me all this time, and I hope that being fashionably a half hour late hasn't upset James at all. The music is louder as we walk further into the edifice, and I soon find that there are lots of people around. I spot the redhead I've only met once before behind a bar, talking with her face very close to a man who looks sort of nerdy, like he doesn't belong in this setting.

            I stop walking, realizing that the host who had shown me the way in has vanished. I look to the left and right to try and find him, but only see unfamiliar faces. It's only when I feel a pair of hands on my waist that I turn around. James's smile is so beautiful that it catches me off guard. His hair is gelled back, tucked in a neat bun at the back of his head, and he's looking casual in a pair of dark blue jeans and a formfitting black t-shirt. It's a bit too loud to hear him, so I just nod when he says hello. He pulls me into a hug, and I feel whole. It devastates me when he lets go, but he kisses me on the cheek and my eyes widen a bit, not having expected such an intimate gesture, not that the hug wasn't already an intimate thing in and of itself. James clasps my wrist and leads me to the bar where Natasha is talking to two guys, one of whom looks a lot more tipsy than the other.

            Finally, I can hear a little bit better, and James's hand is resting in the small of my back when he introduces me to Natasha, a man named Clint, and one named Banner.

            "We've met before," Natasha explains, shaking my hand.

            "You're the lady who fixed our Bucky," she says, causing me to blush. James rolls his eyes, looking a little bit done with Natasha, who laughs when she catches his reaction. Clint shakes my hand, followed by Banner, and the next thing I know, Steve is tapping me on the shoulder. I turn around to look up at him, and he hugs me, causing my feet to leave the ground momentarily.

            "Didn't know you were coming," Steve explains, eying James, who gives him this sort of tacit response. I look between the two of them, trying to decipher their unspoken exchange, but can't really grasp it.

            "Please, have a drink," Steve explains, reaching over the bar for a glass. Natasha pours me something fast and Steve presses the drink into my hand.

            "This is Wanda," Steve explains, introducing me to a long-haired girl with strangely scarlet eyes that cause me to stare for a moment too long. I tell her what my name is and she smiles, telling me it's nice to meet me, and I detect some sort of accent, maybe eastern European, but I can't quite place it. She asks Natasha for another drink and the redhead pours her one.

            "And…have you met Vision yet?" Steve asks.

            "Of course she did," Bucky interrupts, and I feel his arm around my waist, "He let her in. Just don't know where he went…"

            "Okay, well, Vision is the red guy," Steve explains to me, and I laugh, "You gotta meet Sam and Colonel Rhodes. I just have to find them," Steve explains, patting James on the shoulder, cocking a brow in a way that causes James to blush, and walking into the crowd. It takes me a moment to realize that I've just met the Avengers. James's arm is suddenly lost to me and I look up to find him staring down at me somewhat shyly. Steve had somehow embarrassed him.

            "I hope that my friends don't scare you away," he says, and I almost cry as I cup his wrist a moment.

            "I assure you, it takes _a lot_ to scare me away. I work with psychiatric patients, remember?"

Even Natasha laughs at my joke, resting on the bar for a handful of seconds. Clint pulls a bit of her hair, which I notice for the first time is really curly like some kind of spring; it must have been straightened when I saw her for the first time.

            "You are doctor?" Wanda asks me, her thick accent curling around her Rs.

            "Me? No. I'm what they call a Mental Care Aide," I explain.

            "What is det?" Wanda asks. I sigh and mount a stool beside her at the bar to explain to her my job, James grinning and resting on his elbows, gazing at me with interest. In about twenty minutes, I am introduced to Colonel Rhodes and Sam, and James begs Steve _not_ to go and look for Tony.

            "Stark?" I ask. At this, James literally pulls me away, looking anxious suddenly. I'm used to him grabbing me by now, and I look behind me. Steve watches James escape with me, laughing.

            "Wait, what's wrong, James?" I ask, trying to stop, but he keeps pulling me further through the crowd.

            "James?"

He doesn't stop until we are in a hall where there are no partygoers. I sigh, still awaiting his answer, but it feels nice to finally have a bit of space from all the voices and music.

            "Nothing," James reassures me.

            "It's just that, Tony likes to joke _a lot_ , and I don't really want him…saying things that I don't want you to hear."

I cock a brow, "What? Like what?" I ask. James eyes me up and down, drinking me in. He hadn't been able to see me quite as well in the dim lighting downstairs.

            "Golly, Eden," he breathes, "You really look like somethin' straight outta the 40s with that skirt," he explains, changing the subject.

            "Yeah, I can't help liking that era of fashion. I think it was cute," I admit, "…I'm overdressed, aren't I?" I ask, blushing. James shakes his head, taking a step closer to me.

            "No—not at all…I think you look…" he pauses, looking into my eyes a moment. He sighs, scratching the back of his neck a moment. It's like he's afraid to tell me that he thinks I look nice.

            "H-hey," he says, "You ever seen the stars?"

            "…What?"

I follow him towards a telescope, realizing just how fancy a place his home actually is.

            "Bet you've never seen the Big Dipper as clear as you could up here. C'mere," he says. He glances through the eyepiece, waving me over. It had gotten dark so fast as soon as I arrived. I smile, wondering why he suddenly changed the subject so fast. I look through the eyepiece, and feel his hand on my back again. I can tell that he's leaning over me as I can smell his cologne, something faint, but no less alluring.

            "You see that?" he asks, his voice practically in my ear. I fight the urge to moan.

            "…Oh… _wow_ , yeah, I see it."

            "'Cause there's no street lights out here. We can turn everything off and get a sky full of 'em," James explains. His hand dusts my waist, lightly resting there and then pulling away about three or four times. Uncertainty. I stop staring through the telescope. When I look, I find James staring at me. He sighs in this sort of needful way. I smile ever so slightly. He rubs the back of his neck again, glancing to the right and then to the left.

            "Bucky…" he looks at me, smiling without teeth, "Are you feeling okay?" I ask gently. He stares out of the large glass wall a moment.

            "I dunno. I just…I wanted you to come here so bad, but (sigh) I don't know if (sigh)…you really _wanted_ to, and, well, I just think you're really good at what you do—you know, helping psychiatric patients, and—" I close the space between us and stand on my toes to reach his lips. I watch his oceanic eyes close and his arms find their way around me. He starts to kiss me back, pulling me up his body a ways to make things easier to reach. I could just tell from the moment he kissed me on the cheek that he really wanted to _kiss_ me. It becomes apparent to me that he had been afraid that I wouldn't want him. Maybe because of his circumstances, he assumed that I would just think him to be damaged goods, but as he presses me up against the glass wall, I know that his problems, his traumas, aren't enough to keep me from falling for him. I have already landed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY FOR MIA. I've just been busy. Ugh.

          I grip James's strong back and soak up his heated exhale as he sighs into my mouth. His metal hand creeps up into the crease of my elbow, travelling the length of my forearm before planting my right hand against the glass wall, the fingers entangling mine. I claw into his chest through his shirt, hugging his waist with my knees. James and I are kissing for all of about one minute before I hear an entertained cackle. He pretty much drops me, my feet meeting the floor again. To be honest, I hadn't noticed them leave it in the first place. James's expression is rather displeased as he stares kind of hard out of the window, but I soon realize that he's staring at the reflection of the man coming towards us. He sighs, looking down at me apologetically before turning to face the person grinning at us.

            "Is that one of the strippers?" the man asks, pointing at me and sparing me a glance ever so briefly.

            " _Tony_ ," James grumbles through gritted teeth, stepping halfway in front of me. He appears to be trying to shield me, basically, but Tony Stark takes one large step to the right in order to inspect me. He pats James's metal shoulder, nudging him out of the way, and wincing ever so slightly. He briefly sucks on his apparently injured pinky while simultaneously extending me his right hand.

            "Where's the rest of the gang? You were described as 5'7" and above in the advertisement, but that won't be too much of an issue, so long as you're standing on the bar," Tony continues, eying me up and down. His eyes are dark, almost black, and I swear for the tiniest second that I hear James growl like some kind of vicious dog in pre-attack mode. I laugh. Before I can explain that I'm not an exotic dancer of any kind, Tony smiles. I glance at his hand which is vigorously shaking mine, an expensive-looking watch glinting off his wrist.

            "Well, aren't you just a _doll_?" he says, "Not surprised that this guy went for you heart first." He jabs his thumb in James's direction.

            "God, Tony—don't start," James warns, and when I glance at him, he's red around the collar. Tony laughs, crossing his arms and staring down at me.

            "She _just_ got here," James adds, "Can't you at least wait till you're _actually_ drunk to start talkin' smack?"

            "Relax, Barnes," Tony sighs, continuing to inspect me, "Just tryna get the lowdown on your girlfriend. It's not every day that we get to have parties honoring life-saving young ladies around here," he explains. _This party was meant for me…?_

            "I'm not sure Nat or Wanda would be too happy if they heard you say that," James quips, crossing his arms and grinning reluctantly. _Wait…am I James's girlfriend? Did he even hear Tony say that word?...Is that what I am?_

            "I'm Eden," I explain with poise. Tony nods and pronounces my surname perfectly, and I just gawk for a moment. No one _ever_ says it properly, and I soon realize that he must have done some deep ass research on me before I got here. James places an arm around my waist, and I can't help but feel that this motion was made with protection in mind. However, it's only Tony's sarcasm that James intends to protect me from.

            "Are you gonna apologize for calling her a stripper, or what?" he asks seriously. Tony rolls his eyes.

            " _It was a joke_ , James. _She_ even laughed," he says, finally making eye contact with James again, "Jeez, I'm glad there's finally _someone_ at this party with a sense of _humor_ , am I right, Eden?"

James sighs, and I find him staring skywards, as if he's asking God to smite Mr. Stark where he stands. Tony places a hand on my shoulder.

            "I meant no insult," he explains graciously, bowing to me with a flourish of his hand, realizing that James is not going to let this go, "I'm sure you're a _perfectly_ respectable, twenty-five-year-old young lady. He's old enough to be your grandpa, by the way," he says, lowering his voice and speaking to me behind his hand for a moment, intending for James to hear. I laugh, knowing he's still trying to be funny, but James is glaring at him now.

            "I think there must be an _actual_ stripper down there waiting for you to charm the g-string off her," James explains rather harshly, pulling me past Tony, "So, we'll catch up with you later."

            "…That was rude," Tony calls after us, and I am unsure as to whether he was serious with that final statement. James sighs deeply.

            "I'm real sorry about that. Tony doesn't know when to _stop_ sometimes. I just didn't wanna subject you to that."

            "You're so sweet, but I'm fine. I think he was actually kinda funny."

James glances down at me for several seconds without saying anything.

            "Try _living_ with him."

I laugh, and James finally smiles again. He didn't smile when Tony made me laugh. I wonder still, as he leads me down a hallway, whether he realized that Tony had called me his girlfriend.

            "I'm going to give you a tour now, if you'd like," James explains, clasping my arm like a gentleman.

            "I would. This place is _huge_ ," I explain, marveling at the high ceilings. The next thing I know, we have walked around endless square feet, taken an elevator up and down, and then I find myself staring up at the night sky from the middle of a track on the roof, James's arm resting around my waist as he explains the space to me.

            "It's mostly used for landing jets and training," he explains, and I am left gawking.

            "This is amazing," I explain. I finally realize the privilege I've been given to come here and enjoy all of this.

            "Uhm, James?"

            "Yeah?" he asks, turning to gaze down at me with a grin.

            "Tony said that this party was in my honor. I'm sure he was just joking, but…was he?" He looks away from me a moment, shyly, like he had before we started kissing again.

            "Maybe…kind of. Partially. I mean—it was my idea—I just thought that it would be nice if…I mean, because, like—"

I kiss him again, stopping his flustering. He holds me securely, and the breeze whips my legs, making them somewhat chilly. It had been pretty warm during the day, but the night is much less heated, except for James's arms around my body like tight ropes binding me into knots of nerves and butterflies.

            "It's really windy up here," I explain after we pull back for a moment. James grins.

            "Want to go inside?"

I nod, and he leads the way, and we end up in a bedroom, which I can tell is his own.

            "And, this is where I sleep," he says, gesturing to the small desk in the corner. His room is much bigger than mine. The colour scheme is mostly dark blue and black, a little bit of white touches here and there, and I get a further cooling sensation as my skin adjusts to the air conditioning. James clears his throat.

            "Didja wanna go back to the party?" he asks, and the sound of his voice when he inquires is _so_ reluctant that I just step back onto his bed and take a seat.

            "Actually, I was hoping we could talk for a while, if that's alright with you," I explain, patting the spot beside me. James smiles and sits there, leaving about half a foot of space between us.

            "So, what did you want to talk about, Edie?" he asks me, looking down at me pleasantly, and I suddenly feel like an ant beside an elephant, yet somehow comforted by his mass.

            "Not so much, _talk_ , but…" I reach for James's hand, his metal hand. As I take it in both of mine, I watch his eyes close beautifully, and his chest expands with an inhale that just stays put for so long that I'm about to ask him whether he's okay before he sighs. I place his hand against my kneecap.

            "I think that you really like me, if I'm not mistaken."

            "There _is_ no mistake," he admits, opening his eyes again. I just eye him like a doe in headlights and we look at each other for such a long time, hearts throbbing. He pulls me against him and beneath him suddenly, and we end up kissing in bed desperately, as if we won't have the chance to do it ever again. After a moment, I realize that his flesh hand is only cupping my neck and the metal one isn't doing much else. I grab it and pull it beneath my skirt, against my flesh, at which point, James's lips disconnect from mine. He gives my thigh a soft caress once before pulling his hand out from under my skirt and resting it at my side.

            "I—I really think that we should slow down," he says with the shyest of smiles that I melt. I push a strand of hair which has come loose from his bun behind his ear, and he leans against my palm in the process, closing his eyes again, as if every time I touch him, he must savor it.

            "I do want to make love to you, but I think we should…not. At least not just yet," he explains, furrowing his brows with his eyes still closed, like he's afraid to open them. But as I press my other palm against his cheek, he gazes down at me.

            "Why?" I ask him honestly.

            "Well," he says, gazing skywards momentarily, searching for the words he wants to use, "Uhm…I don't remember much about my past, but I _do_ know that I…well, I used to be kind of a jerk with women. And I don't want to do that to you. I really like you, Eden. I just don't want to do something that maybe I'm not ready to handle the way I want to handle it," he explains, looking at me apologetically, " _Believe me_ —I definitely want you. I just—"

            "Shhhh." I press a finger to his lips and start to sit up, James giving way to allow me to do so. I stand and straighten my skirt before grinning and reaching out for his hand. He smiles at me without teeth.

            "I came here because you wanted me to, and because I wanted to see you. I think I understand what you mean, Bucky. And I'm okay with that. It sounds like you just want something real, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way," I explain. He takes my hand, standing.

            "How old are you, again? Forgive me, you just look so young, but you speak like a grown woman," James explains, looking fascinated. I laugh, and then he literally face palms himself, probably having regretted what he'd said. And then I recall Tony telling me that he's old enough to be my grandfather. Somehow, this information is just not as unsettling to me as it might have been to some other twenty-something-year-old women.

            "That was stupid—I shouldn't have said that," he says, laughing nervously a moment.

            "I mean—you _are_ a woman. God, what happened to me? Steve said I used to be _real_ smooth—"

            "James, it's okay," I interrupt. He's so shy and cute and goofy now, not quite as slick as he had been while psychotic. At the same time, I _love_ this side of him, perhaps even more than before.

            "Let's just go back to the party."

            "Okay," he says, following me as I lead him to the door. But he closes it with his shiny hand as soon as I open it. I gasp, and turn around to find him looking sort of sad.

            "Actually…would it be okay if I took you somewhere else? Tony's gonna make _such_ a big deal about me dating someone, and I'm not…in the mood for his bull. I just wanna…spend time with you, if that's okay with you." My heart pounds like a motherfucker.

            "Where do you want to go?" I ask him. He smiles and it sends chills down every inch of my spine.

 

            I find myself on the back of a motorcycle that I know is expensive but do not know the name of as I cling to James's back in the summer breeze. The night whips by us unrelentingly as he whizzes around a corner, and I press my lips to the nape of his neck teasingly. I can tell from the movement of his abdomen beneath my locked hands that he laughs. I kiss him every time we approach a light, and they stay green, like some type of magic. The _one_ time that I don't kiss the nape of James's neck, we get stuck at a light, and his feet resting on the cement are strong enough to hold the bike in place with me on it, clinging to him from behind. We don't go anywhere; he just rides around, and around, through places that I know look nice in the sunlight.

            I don't care where we're going, honestly, just that there's something exciting about Steve not knowing that James takes his bike out for joyrides when he can't sleep, or so that’s what James tells me. There's a sort of thrill, like we're doing something we're not supposed to. It's the same feeling that we both must have had while James was in the hospital. By the time he rides back to the party, it's over. The only cars waiting outside of the Compound are a couple of Tony Stark's and my lone black Camry. James rides us into the garage that only opens after he presses some fancy code into a keypad. The lights flicker on as he rides the bike back into place. Neither of us had worn a helmet, and somehow, I was okay with that. I was just excited to be going somewhere with James, _alone_.

            I step off the bike, using his shoulders for support, and he comes off after me, wrapping an arm around my waist.

            "Wow. That was fun," I state, "That's the first time I've ever been on a motorcycle," I explain.

            "Really?" James asks. I nod, looking down an aisle of cars and vehicles of different types, spotting the motorcycle that I had seen James drive away on when he found me in the parking lot after work the other day.

            "That's really Steve's, then?" I ask. James laughs, pressing a finger to his lips and nodding.

            "He had a Harley that he used to love riding around, but it sorta got destroyed on a mission. He'd die if he knew I was riding with this one—he won't even take it on missions," James explains, shaking his head. He places both hands firmly on my hips.

            "It has to be our secret," he whispers. I smile and nod and all the while, he draws me nearer him, before kissing me. The next thing I know, James gasps, and I feel his arms clutching me even tighter. So I open my eyes to find the lights off. He stands in front of me when a small light pokes through the darkness. As it shines in his face, he starts backing up, causing me to stumble until I find myself pressed up against the wall. I can't see for his body masking me from the light.

            "Alright, kids. Party's over," Tony states.

James sighs with irritation.

            "Goddamnit, Tony," he mumbles with irritation, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

            "Oh, it was _you_?" Tony explains, sounding not so sober. The next thing I know, the lights are on, and I peak from behind James, who had practically been shielding me, and catch a glimpse of Steve leaning in the doorway with a knowing grin on his face. Tony tips a near-empty wine bottle to his lips. James sighs again, grabbing my wrist and marching past Tony, pausing at the doorway to the rest of their home to wait for Steve to move.

            "You disappeared on us," The Captain explains, cocking an eyebrow.

            "I was just showin' her around. She wants to go home now," James explains, not waiting long enough for me to add to this conversation before he moves on. It was strange back there, as if it were instinct for him to shield me like that, like he was trying to protect me. It's not like James wasn't home, yet he must have immediately thought danger upon the lights going out. My heart palpitates again. I don't want to leave as he apologizes to me about Tony's interruption. It occurs to me that James had intentionally kept me away from Tony for the entire evening. It's almost as if he had wanted to keep me all to himself, and I get a fluttering sensation within my chest.

            "I just…wanted to spend time with you," he explains, finally pulling his hair out of the messy bun it had turned into after riding around, "Without everyone…" he grumbles, making a frustrated gesture with his hands. And I laugh. His eyes widen at me for a second before he grins shyly.

            "I've been wanting to call you all this past week. But I didn't want you to think I was some kinda creep. I like you _a lot_ , Eden," James explains, "And I was wonderin' if…if you'd let me take you on a date?" he asks this question with a hint of fear, fear that I will deny him. My face begins to hurt from smiling so much. I answer his question by standing on my toes to kiss his cleft, and he laughs quietly.

            "Just call me and tell me where and when,"  I explain, fishing my keys out of the pocket of the purse James had helped me to find when we walked through the building. He grabs my waist when I'm about to sit in the car, pulling me back out. Before I can ask him what's wrong, he presses me hard up against my car and kisses me. This time, the kiss is _very_ sexual, and I find myself wondering how the hell he had been able to stop me when we were in his bedroom earlier. This kiss makes it obvious that he wasn't lying about wanting me, but right as I'm about to moan, he pulls back, eying me with some sort of amazement, taking two steps away from the obvious fire between us.

            "Good night, Eden," he says in this deep voice that gets me wet. I stare at him through the window for several seconds before slowly backing away from the big building behind him. Even as I look out the rearview mirror, I can feel him staring directly at me. Holy fuck.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LET ME JUST SAY, I'm sorry as fuck this took so long for me to update. My life has been so busy. This is the last chapter. Don't quote me on what I'm going to say next, because I am not even sure yet myself, but there MAY be a sequel at some point in the future. I really hate that I left y'all hanging. If you want me dead, I completely understand :]

             In short, to spare you any unnecessary details, James and I end up spending a lot of time together, most of it away from the Avengers facility, James craftily managing to take me on adventures all over New York. We go to museums and parks, endless secret spots, and he refuses to let me pay for anything, and we always stop in some corner to kiss feverishly and hold onto each other for dear life when no one is looking too hard at his metallic limb. He eventually becomes more comfortable being at _my place_ , after I suggested it a number of times. I never slept over with him. I could always tell that he was afraid Tony or Steve might burst through the door at any moment. His friends were always so curious about me, and I was quick to sense that James was uncomfortable with our lack of privacy there. But I never wanted to push him. In truth, I'd have gone as slowly as he wanted to. Sex was something to look forward to, one out of the myriad reasons why I was always excited to spend time with him.

            We still don't get to the point that I'm yearning for the first night that he spends at my place. I feel so badly about my bed being small, and James only smiles, making himself my own personal pillow, and the fan operating at its highest capacity in front of us keeps me cool and comfortable enough to sleep. I wake up to the sensation of being held, and find my cheek pressed against his flesh bicep, his metal fingers cool and comforting as they comb through my hair. I slowly smile, feeling his lips on my forehead.

            "Hey doll," he says quietly, and without looking up at him, I can hear the smile in his voice, "I can't believe we finally did it," he says, laughing gently. And I just laugh to myself. Yes, we finally slept together—yes, you heard me correctly— _slept_ together, like making Zs and awkwardly turning around in our sleep, me nearly kicking him out of the bed. For the first time, I realize the copious amount of sweat continuing to drip between my cheek and James's arm, my whole arm and his chest, any part of my skin which is in contact with him.

            "Oh, god," I whisper, my eyes widening, suddenly worried that I smell awful, "I'm sweating all over you, Bucky. How could you just let me—"

            "Lil sweat never killed nobody," he says, and his deep voice in my ear is enough to make me wet elsewhere, "You were just so cute, I almost couldn't wake ya up. You were fast asleep on my chest when I woke up…until I couldn't stand having to pee any longer," he chuckles. I pull away from him with lightning speed, apologizing. To my surprise, he pulls me right back in, propping himself up against the wall at his back, "You sleep like a log, I went and came right back," he explains. I can't help feeling super embarrassed, but clearly, James Buchanan Barnes is totally enamored with everything about me.

            "Aren't you hot?" I ask him, he shakes his head quietly, telling me again that a little sweat never hurt anyone.

            "I want to take you somewhere special today," James goes on, his chin making contact with the top of my head. I laugh.

            "Haven't you taken me somewhere special the entire past couple of weeks?" I ask him. He laughs.

            "Yeah, but…there's somethin'…some place I been avoiding taking you. Just 'cause I was afraid of all the memories," he says, and his grip on me tightens, until it is slightly uncomfortable. I look up and find James staring into space. I make a mild noise and his eyes widen, tearing away from whatever memory had gripped him, and he nearly jets up off the wall, releasing me.

            "I'm so sorry, Edie—I—I wasn't paying attention," he says hastily, "Did I hurt you?" he asks, and _fearfully_. His ocean eyes are scanning my flesh for any sign of bruising.

            "I'm okay," I say, a lot more quietly than I had intended. He is staring down over me like a chiseled skyscraper, his strength the type where he looks like he could just step on me and I'd die, but the expression on his face is so sadly apologetic that my eyes actually water. Not really knowing how else to convince him that I'm unharmed, I inch away slightly so he has a better view as I pull my legs out from under the two sheets I still sleep under, despite the heat. He sighs, and slouches with a lack of confidence.

            "This is why we shouldn't be sleeping in the same bed," he frets, "I coulda rolled over on you," he says worriedly. And I regret having winced. In my time spent getting to know James, the _real_ James, I have noticed this about him, that he's frequently afraid of hurting people, particularly me, considering how close we have become. Other times, he'll be so bold as to grab me while I'm making us lunch, throw me up against a wall, and just plain demolish my lips.

            "No—that's not gonna happen—"

            "You don't _know_ that," he says, and it takes me a moment to recognize his trembling hands until he pushes them through his messy hair. He then stands up out of my bed and kneels on the floor to rummage through his backpack in the corner. He pays no mind to the keys to Steve's motorcycle (yeah, the Captain figured that shit out really fast and said he knew James was riding it around at night the entire time we'd been sneaking away for the city when we thought no one would notice. Steve said that he found it to be really cute, his own words, and actually regretted it when he caught us coming back one night) slipping onto the hardwood floor.

            "James," I call softly, turning the fan off so that he can hear me. I just watch him kneeling there, desperately looking for something, every muscle in his back tight with what appears to be anxiety. He glances back at me for just a few seconds out of the corner of his eye. Though I can't see what he's doing, I can tell he's handling something.

            "James, you're scaring me," I explain, hesitant to approach him. And only when he throws his head back slightly do I realize he's taking something. He grabs the stainless steel water bottle from his backpack and chases down whatever he took.

            "James," I say more firmly. Carefully, I approach him, in time to see him shoving an orange prescription bottle into his backpack. He looks up at me with what looks like guilt, knowing I've already seen it. I sigh and kneel down beside him.

            "Does it bother you that I'm still on psych meds?" he asks, frowning in such a sad puppy manner that my eyes water again. He looks away uncomfortably, almost shamefully. In truth, in all the time we've been spending together, I haven't  seen him taking meds. It isn't that I don't wonder whether he's still on anything he was on at Saint Greenley's, but even if he is, he's been doing so well that it wouldn't have made a difference for me regarding how I feel about him.

            "Well, James, I love you, and it doesn't bother—"

            "You _love_ me?" his eyes widen, and I feel him grasping my shoulders suddenly.

            "I, uh…" And I get so shy that I can't meet his gaze. I wring my hands, trying to find more words.

            "You…do you love me, Eden?" James asks, cupping my chin so I can't avoid his eyes any longer, "'Cause, I been wanting to tell you for a long time now, doll…I love you." The nervousness dissipates, and James is looking at me in such a way that no man has ever looked at me before. I nod.

            "Yes, James, I love you." I don't even remember him picking me up off the floor; I just remember seeing fireworks and feeling a type of flame beneath my fingers, electricity, maybe. Something no man has ever made me feel before. James is like a meaty, muscly, slab of heat on top of me, and he's so delicate about breaching me, pausing with wide eyes when I gasp and lift my head up off the pillow. With mild shyness, I find myself repeatedly assuring him that everything he's doing feels good. Seemingly unconvinced, he rolls to bring me on top. Soon, I'm sweating like a motherfucker, pile driving down on him, causing us both insane pleasure. James's pecks become a sweaty slide beneath my fingers, which eases when I dig my nails into his shoulders. James groans, throwing his head back, grasping at my hips, my waist, my breasts, looking like he can't believe or understand how nice it feels to finally be inside of me. He almost looks overwhelmed, but then starts meeting my thrusts, jabbing his hips up between my thighs, causing me to yelp and gasp pleasurably. There's a wicked smirk on his face that drives me head on into orgasm, and I pause, legs trembling where I squat, James sitting up to wrap his arms around me.

            He presses his lips to my forehead, and I can feel them trembling. He abruptly begins to pull me upwards off of him.

            "I—I'm gonna cum," he explains, trying to stabilize his breath. I snatch his hands away from my hips and keep myself secured on him.

            "I want you to," I breathe. James's eyebrows cock and there's just a moment of hesitation before his gorgeous arms encircle me, and he groans with finality, just holding me to him hard, with desperation. His eyes glaze over as he gazes down into my own, that utterly pussy whipped expression I've seen on men's faces before when they want badly to get in my pants, plastered there. His eyes goddamn scintillate.

            "Oh, fuck," he breathes, giving into the primal instinct. Before I met James, I had always promised myself that I would never let any bastard—despite how attractive he may be—cum inside me, but James isn't any bastard. In fact, I'd been desperately dreaming of this moment, and it couldn't have been any more perfect. The sensation in my body is…out of body. There's no real way to describe it. The sudden warmth deep inside me is met with a spilling sensation, a fucking overflow, and as I cup the back of James's neck, I feel him shudder bodily beneath me, still grunting, riding the moment out. The tips of his metal fingers bury into my sacrum. By the time he's finished, my heart rate is just beginning to come back down.

            I cup that handsome face in my hands and when the eyes open again, James just smiles at me, in this innocent way that is devoid of all the lust we'd entangled ourselves in seconds prior. It's just a loving and kind smile.

            "Did I swear? I'm sorry, doll," James apologizes. I kiss his nose and he laughs.

 

            The way that James grips my hand, hurrying to the pitcher's mound of a park he hasn't shown me before, gets me all the more excited to see exactly what it is he's trying to see. And when he finally reaches it, he pauses just before the mound, smiling from ear to ear when he turns around to grab me by my waist. He physically lifts me and places me up on the pile of dirt.

            "I can't believe it's still here," he says, his cold eyes darting back and forth.

            "You can't?" I ask, holding back a laugh. He's so excited, like a child. Despite how run down and abandoned-looking this park is, I can see that it's full of James's childhood memories.

            "Steve and I used to come here _all_ the time, practice pitching and batting, and—my _god_ …I'm just happy it's still here. Oh _boy_." And now I can't help but laugh. James looks up at me with some embarrassment.

            "You makin' fun of an old man?" he asks me jokingly.

            "Oh, I'm not making fun of you, Bucky; I think you're cute when you're excited," I explain. He blushes.

            "This is nice…I can picture you running around here," I explain, taking in the scenery.

            "Can you?" he asks me, all this hope in his voice. I nod, still having to stand on my tiptoes just to meet his cleft. He laughs, my lips tickling him.

            "Gosh, I love you, Eden. Today has to be the best day of my life, since I can remember," he explains. My heart goes 500 miles per hour. He lifts me up in his arms so we can kiss for a few minutes.

            "Hey, how 'bout a dance, doll?" Bucky asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

            "Okay," I smile.

            "And…it's sorta sappy. So yuh better not laugh at me," he jokes, and I laugh.

I Can't Believe That You're In Love With Me meets my ears as it leaks out of James's cell phone. He tucks it into his back pocket and wraps his metal arm around my waist while the flesh one grips my hand. We dance there slowly, the sky partially cloudy. And just when the song ends, it begins to pour rain. We start back the way we came, and then James begins to actually chase me, giggling and telling me that he's going to get me. I'm laughing wildly, but also scared in a way, you know, the way you _really_ get when someone chases you, even if you're both just playing. And I'm running with a heart full of joy, enjoying every second of it. James's attempt to grip the back of my shirt collar only registers as a scratching sensation, and my name is the last thing that I hear belting on his voice with panic before everything goes black…

            James literally trips out into the street, having gotten so scared that he lost footing, a ripping sensation going through his chest. He'd seen the white Jaguar slow down as it made contact with Eden, heard the tires screech. By the time he reaches her and turns her over, there's already blood streaming from her nose. He can just barely hear the driver talking rapidly, terrified, but not nearly as terrified as James is now. He spotted the vehicle just _seconds_ before Eden ran out into the street, and knew it was going over the speed limit.

            "Oh my god! She _ran_ out in front of me—!"

            "You _hit_ my girlfriend! You _fucking idiot_ —this is a _fifteen_ mile per hour zone, asshole!" James yells, and he starts compressions on Eden's chest as soon as he realizes she's not breathing.

            " _She ran out in front_ —"

            "You were doing _at_ _least_ thirty in a fucking _fifteen_ zone!" James barks, stealing one tearful, yet livid glance at a well-dressed business-looking sort of man. Already, James is sure that the bastard was just driving haphazardly, dashing to meet a client at some upscale restaurant for some upscale firm in the city.

            "Call an ambulance!" James barks, pinching Eden's nose closed to give her a breath, and the man starts dialing.

            "Sweety?" he calls desperately, hearing ribs break as he continues compressions, "God, come on, doll… _please_ open your eyes. Please, _don't go_. Don't you _dare_ ," he begs. And when he sees her chest rise on its own, just the tiniest bit of relief begins to well up from within. Eden remains unconscious, nonetheless. He hears an ambulance coming, and when he finally looks up from Eden lying on the pavement, the white Jaguar speeds off and away from the scene. James squints into the distance with a rage that puts his heart in pain, trying to memorize the license plate, his metal hand beginning to crack furious holes inside the asphalt where it rests. He finds himself picking up a chunk of the hot stone when he lifts his trembling fist.

 

            The next two weeks are the most difficult of James's life. He's only a little bit relieved when Eden's family allows her to be transferred to the Avengers facility, where they were assured that Doctor Cho's care is the _best_ that Eden can possibly receive, and for free. James has been fraught with guilt from the moment he was informed that Eden was in a coma. _If only he hadn't chased her_ …He finds himself sitting at her bedside, like he does every morning, clutching her hand, replaying the best day they'd spent together over and over again in his head. It always ends up making him cry when he remembers how that day ended. James closes his eyes, unable to be silent about his pain. He's just glad that he's alone with her; he's tired of Steve and Natasha trying to tell him that this wasn't his fault. _If only he had stayed away from her_ …That she didn't die had initially relieved him, but the way she is now, he cannot have her anyway. Mid-sob, something presses at the top of his head.

            "Why are you crying?" Eden's voice is so weak that James barely recognizes it. His head shoots up and his eyes in the direction of her weary face. She comes to a little bit more, and he watches in shock, until she gasps at the sight of his metal hand clutching hers and pulls it back.

            "Eden?" he asks, standing so fast that his chair falls backwards. She's scrambling to the edge of the bed, away from him.

            "Eden—be careful," James begs, walking around the other side to meet her. Instead, she screams and travels to the other side, tripping over his chair and crawling back into the corner. James pauses, eying her with confusion, his gaze gradually following her horrified stare. His arms are freely visible, sweat drenching the back of the gray tank top he had run laps in just minutes before dropping in to see her.

            "Eden," he says again, sadly this time, realizing that she doesn't even recognize him.

            "Who the hell is Eden?"


End file.
